


Spitting Distance

by notallbees



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Does it count as a love triangle if two parties are the same person?, Drunken Kissing, Fuckbuddies, Jealousy, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Next Level Masturbation, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Thor Is a Good Bro, Unspecified magical incident, selfcest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst on a mission, Steve is cloned during a magical mishap, but one of his selves is returned to his pre-serum state. Now one Steve faces the prospect of a life without everything the serum gave him, while the other must make peace with the person he never really stopped being.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all can fnd me on [tumblr](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/), and there's fanart, photo refs etc [under this tag](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/tagged/steve%2Fsteve-i%27m-crying) :)

Steve pushed himself up from the ground with an agonized groan. He didn't remember getting hit so hard, but it felt like he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life. His chest was tight and achey, and his limbs barely had the strength to support him. With a great surge of effort, he pushed himself upright and got shakily to his feet. 

His head was fuzzy, but shaking it to dispel the dizziness only intensified the sensation. He must have a concussion: his hearing and vision both felt off, in a way he hadn't experienced in years. He squinted around the dingy basement and made out the shape of another figure nearby: a man, getting slowly to his feet. Steve glanced around for his shield, a weapon, anything he could use. The shield was lying in the middle of the floor between them, and he barely hesitated before making a grab for it. 

Unfortunately, the other guy had the same idea, and he was faster. It was hardly surprising: Steve felt like he was moving through water. The man was tall, very tall, and Steve set his chin to look up into his eyes. 

What he saw shocked the hell out of him. He didn’t really believe it at first, but the face was one he knew intimately. 

"Aw, fuck," he said loudly, only to realize a second later that man with his face had said the same words at the same moment. 

He looked down at himself, finally registering the fact that he was naked. They both were. The only difference was that his mirror image looked just like normal, if maybe a little banged up. But he looked like he just fell out of nineteen forty-two. 

"Fuck," he said again, looking up into his own anxious face. "What the fuck is going on?" He kicked out before he had time to consider it, trusting his instincts to help him where his body wouldn't, but the other man was faster. He grabbed Steve and twisted his arms behind his back. Steve tried to hold in his grunt of pain, but the man heard it and loosened his grip.

"Who are you?" he hissed in Steve's ear. "What the hell is this?"

"You know who I am, asshole," Steve spat. "Captain Steven Rogers. Who the fuck are you?"

The man took a slow breath. “Remember what you had for breakfast yesterday? Before the mission?”

Steve struggled uselessly. “What the hell? Get off me!”

“You and Sam went for cinnamon bagels from the breakfast place, with the waitress who flirts with you both. Her name's Jessica."

"Anyone could've followed us," Steve snarled, struggling again even though his shoulders felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets. He was so _weak_.

The voice in his ear made a familiar sound of frustration. "You _know_ I’m not lying. _Think_."

“Tell me something only I’d know then,” Steve said.

“You—you think Jessica’s brother is cute as hell. She showed you his picture last week, he’s studying for his postgrad and you wanted to ask him for a drink.”

Steve went limp, finally. Whatever was going on here, this guy was more him than he was right now. "I didn’t tell anyone that," he said quietly. He felt the other him relax. "So, what is this? You're me now?”

“Always have been.” 

“Then who the hell am I?”

 

 

By the time they made it to the nearest safehouse, smothered in layers of borrowed clothing, Steve was so ravaged by hunger and sleep deprivation that he could barely stand. He was proud that he’d made it the last mile on his own two feet because it had been a near thing, and— _other_ Steve—big Steve—had offered more than once to carry him. The safehouse was little more than a cabin, a tiny bastion against the wilderness outside, stocked with plenty of canned food and a wireless radio. 

“Well, this takes me back,” other Steve said once he’d checked the perimeter and exits. The cabin was just one room with a corner annexed as a washroom, and a huge wood burner on one wall. Steve eyed the sagging armchairs covetously, but there was no use him sitting down until he’d made them something to eat. He might never get up again if he stopped now. 

“What’re you doing?”

Steve scowled at the other guy. “Fixing us something to eat, what does it look like? If you’re really me, you must have a hell of an appetite right now.”

He shook his head. “You’re tired and weak, you need to rest.”

“Go fuck yourself. If you wanna be useful, get that fire going.”

Shaking his head, the guy disappeared outside. Steve could hear him rummaging in the woodpile on the other side of the wall by the stove. Meanwhile, Steve tried the gas and cheered silently when he found that it was working. Sure, he wanted to eat, but a hot meal would do him much more good than a cold can of beans. He rustled up a couple of saucepans and started heating some stew and vegetables. At the moment he felt ravenous, but there was no telling how much he’d _actually_ be able to put away now that he was so much smaller. Steve was thankful that the cabin didn’t have any mirrors. To be on the safe side he just doubled what he would normally make for himself, assuming that big Steve would be starving. 

He stayed hunched over the stove when the door opened and closed again; at least he could use the excuse that the heat was helping him to stave off the draft. While big Steve knelt to build the fire, Steve rooted through the cupboards to find bowls and cutlery. 

“Hey, uh—” Steve said awkwardly, before realizing he had no idea what to call the guy. “Screw this,” Steve muttered, rubbing one hand over his face. “I’m callin’ you Rogers.”

Rogers’ mouth tightened, but he just shrugged. “Fine.” 

“So, food’s ready.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” Rogers said, turning back to the burner. 

Steve took a seat in one of the solid wooden kitchen chairs, and his entire body sighed with relief. He’d been right; now that he was sitting, he barely had the energy to lift his spoon, but he forced himself to eat what he’d put in front of himself. Rogers joined him after a few minutes, as the fire had started to crackle in the background. Despite the late start, he put almost two bowls of food before Steve had even finished his first. 

"You okay?" he said at last, eyeing Steve across the table.

Steve nodded. "Fine." He lifted his arm to take another mouthful but he felt heavy and leaden, and the spoon clattered back into the bowl. 

"Steve?"

Steve closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was stiflingly warm, and it took him a few moments to realize that he was wrapped head to toe in blankets. With a struggle, he sat up and looked around. Rogers had pulled the little cot bed over near the wood burner and tucked him in with a swathe of musty blankets. Steve felt muzzy and feverish, and he blinked slowly until he spotted Rogers dozing in one of the armchairs. 

"What happened?" Steve said thickly, knowing Rogers would've woken as soon as Steve started to sit up. 

Rogers opened his eyes. "You passed out in your canned carrots."

Steve shook his head. "Great," he muttered under his breath.

"Forget it," Rogers said lightly. "This body is built for hiking through tundra for six hours. That one isn't. No big deal."

"No big deal unless you're in it," Steve snapped. 

Rogers didn't respond, which was funny. Steve Rogers playing the peacemaker. Still, there'd be no _point_ to an extraction if they'd already killed each other.

"Extraction?" Steve asked.

"Delayed," Rogers said with an unhappy twist to his mouth. "Storms. Nobody can get to us until late morning at the earliest."

Steve winced. “Right.”

“There’s plenty of food, and we’re not too exposed. We’ll hunker down, keep the burner going. I found a first aid kit too, so—”

“I’m fucking fine.”

Rogers narrowed his eyes. “I’m fairly certain you passed out due to hypoglycaemia. Your vision and hearing have suffered, and you’re not walking any further with those blisters.”

“You looked at my _feet_?” Steve hissed, glaring at him. 

“You were bleeding through your socks, so yeah, I dressed your feet. Jesus Christ, get over yourself.”

Steve scowled. “I gotta take a leak,” he muttered, pushing aside the blankets and clambering out of the bed. He had to admit: his feet hurt a _lot_ less now, and he tried not to let it show that he was still in pain at all as he hobbled over to the washroom. His whole body was stiff and weak with exhaustion, but he was able to get himself to the can where he sat down with a heavy groan. His back and legs both ached like hell, but he managed to shimmy his pants down enough that he could take a piss. 

"You know they're gonna quarantine us, right?" Rogers said, raising his voice slightly. 

Steve groaned and covered his face with his hands. "You tell 'em what happened?"

"Kinda. Not really something I thought I could convince them of over the radio though."

Finishing up, Steve levered himself to his feet with a grimace and stepped back into the room. Rogers gave him a cursory glance. “How’s your back?”

Steve picked up a beat up magazine from a pile meant for kindling, steering clear of Rogers as much as he could, for no reason he could really name. “Fine.” He snagged a blanket and curled up in one of the hard kitchen chairs.

“Uh huh. And your chest? Your breathing’s heavy.”

Steve gritted his teeth. “Fine.”

Rogers snorted. “Sure.”

Ignoring him, Steve clutched the blanket around him tighter and paged through the magazine. It was some kind of music magazine, but the front cover was missing so Steve couldn’t date it. He recognized one or two names, but mostly he just let his eyes pass over the words without absorbing the content. Rogers was right: his vision was a little off, a little out of focus, which was infuriating. The harder he tried to focus on the words, the more they seemed to slide away under his gaze, and his right temple started to throb. It was colder too than he’d realized in the cabin. After being so warm by the fire, he’d now cooled down enough to feel the cold away from it. He suppressed a shiver.

“Cold?” Rogers muttered, looking over his shoulder.

“Obviously,” he snapped back. “Fucking Minnesota.”

Rogers gestured to the fire. “C’mon, you need to keep warm.” When he didn’t move, Rogers sighed heavily. “Please, come on, sit by the fire. If you don’t wanna share body heat I won’t come near you, but there’s no use freezing your ass off just to prove a point.”

Steve got up from the table and walked over to where Rogers was crouched by the fireplace. He dropped down beside him, his back to the cot. “This sucks.”

 

Rogers nodded. “I’m sorry.” Out of the corner of his eye Steve could see that Rogers also looked tired and drained, but no doubt he was comforting himself with pitying Steve rather than worry about himself. “I’ll fix it.”

 

Steve snorted at him and wrapped the blanket around himself tighter. “Sure. Just like I fixed Hydra back in the forties. Oh, wait. Maybe just like I fixed things for Bucky. Oh. Wait.”

“Shut up,” Rogers muttered, turning away from him and grabbing the remainder of the blankets off the cot. “I’m too tired to argue.” 

While the cabin was silent but for the crackle of the fire and the wind crying outside, Rogers made up a hard bed on the floor, a few feet from the fire. He threw another blanket over Steve’s shoulders, then turned away, lying down with his back to the fire. There was a big iron fireguard between them and the flames, safe for them to sleep so close, and Steve watched wordlessly as Rogers lay down, putting himself on the outside, further away from the heat.

With a resigned sigh, Steve settled down behind him, not quite close enough to touch. He wondered whether somehow getting pushed back into this spiky, painful body had made him grumpier, more liable to snap, or if that’s really just how he was, still. Tall enough to spit in any man’s eye and he still had a chip on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” Steve said, his voice tired and small. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought Bucky into it. He’s doing great.”

Rogers shrugged. “Sure, far as I know.”

Steve pressed his mouth together, because wasn’t that the truth. Coulson had scooped Bucky up after a mere couple of months, claiming his own little SHIELD team had cleared him for active duty, and that nobody was as qualified for the work that needed doing as Bucky was. Steve still felt a little sick at the memory of the shouting match he’d exchanged with both Bucky and then Coulson over the whole thing. He was supposed to be the thrillseeker, not Bucky. He was supposed to be the one that couldn’t come in from the cold, not Bucky. 

And yet here he was, out in the cold anyway, quite literally. Steve let a bitter laugh rush out under his breath, and Rogers’ shoulders tensed. 

“What.”

Steve shook his head at himself, and fidgeted with the coat under his head to pillow it up better. “Nothing.”

“Come on, what.”

“Just thinking about Bucky.”

Rogers made a soft sound. Then he spoke, gentler. “You remember thirty-three, he picked up that shitty job diving for oysters?”

The laughter surprised Steve, making him cough, but it felt good. Good to laugh at something fond. “Aw, jeez,” he muttered, still smiling after his coughing fit had subsided. “The little shit, pretending he didn’t know it was against the law to fish outta that damn river.”

“The smell of it,” Rogers agreed, chuckling. “He used to come out looking like a piece of garbage. Wouldn’t even let me put a _toe_ in for fear I’d get sick—”

He broke off, suddenly, clearly remembering Steve behind him. Remembering that probably Steve could get sick again now. 

“And then we’d drag the buckets to the back door of Rigaletti’s,” Steve said, forced cheer in his voice now. “Christ, I was so mad when I found out about that public health order, I almost broke his nose.”

Rogers was quiet for a moment. “Richetti’s,” he corrected softly. 

Steve opened his eyes, stunned. Richetti’s, of course, how had he forgotten? “Yeah,” he said awkwardly. They both continued to lie in silence, and Steve had almost started to doze when Rogers spoke again. 

“Sometimes I think I don’t wanna be his friend anymore,” he whispered, and Steve had to lift his head to hear it with his good ear. “Even if he wants me—I don’t—I don’t know if we fit anymore.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of tears and shuffled closer. He flung his arm over Rogers, taking the blanket with him, and spooned up tight against his back. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up the next morning was all too much like waking up at base camp with the Howlies. Steve was lying in a cold sweat by a dying fire, and being spooned by someone with pretty insistent morning wood. For one horrible moment, as he processed the impossibility that he could be behind enemy lines in 1944, Steve began to worry that he was butt to groin with a member of the strike team. The thought made him shudder, and the arms tightened around his waist.

"It's still early. You should sleep more," a low voice murmured in his ear.

Right, Rogers. 

“Can’t sleep with you suffocating me,” Steve griped, and Rogers immediately loosened his hold. After a moment Steve noticed that Rogers was still holding his wrist and he pulled his arm free with a muttered curse. "Dammit, are you taking my pulse?"

"You should eat," Rogers said briskly, getting to his feet. "I'll heat something up." 

There was no use protesting. Rogers set about putting together a meal from the mystery cans, and Steve sat up so he could put more wood into the burner and build up the dying fire. He heard the telltale inhale of breath behind him: Rogers wanting to tell him to leave it, to rest, but thankfully he held his tongue. Steve didn’t much feel like punching himself, especially not if he couldn’t make it hurt. 

They avoided talking after that. Rogers made him eat some creamed corn, canned ham and some vegetables, and Steve forced it all down with a grimace. After that he fell asleep for a little while, and when he woke again it was white outside instead of black. In the corner, Rogers was wrestling with the radio.

“Anything?” Steve asked once he’d slammed down the receiver.

Rogers glanced at him. “Three hours, they hope. The storm’s getting worse again this afternoon, but they think they can beat the cold front.”

“Fine.”

Silence settled on them like the snowfall outside. Steve pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “Do you--” he began awkwardly. Rogers looked at him, waiting expectantly. “What d’you think happened? Why--why this? Why two of us?”

Rogers frowned. “I don’t--look, I believe that you’re me. Everything we talked about yesterday, on the way here, all of it--there’s no way anyone could know that stuff without being in my head. I think you’re as much me as I am.”

Steve closed his eyes, hanging his head momentarily. “Thank you,” he said in a quiet voice. “Still doesn’t go any way to explaining it, but people might be more willing to believe me if you do.”

“They’re not gonna hide you away in a lab,” Rogers said, his expression darkening. “There’s just--there’s no way, I won’t let that happen.”

“Might not be up to you.”

Rogers crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of Steve. “I mean it. I’m not leaving anyone behind. Not even me.”

Steve laughed reluctantly. “Careful, Rogers. Your friends’ll start thinking you’ve learned to watch your back.”

“I watch my back,” Rogers said, smirking. 

 

 

The extraction team arrived almost four hours later, just as the weather was starting to turn filthy again. Unsurprisingly, the first thing they did was put both Steve and Rogers in restraints. They shared a helpless shrug before submitting to it. No doubt it was that or get tranqued. 

“I thought SHIELD would pick us up,” Steve commented shortly into their rocky flight.

“You guys are Stark Industries, right?” Rogers asked one of the silent guards. When they ignored him, he shrugged and looked back at Steve. “I guess Fury asked Tony for help. They’re short-handed right now.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

Their destination turned out to be an older SHIELD facility, though most of the staff they saw seemed to be Stark Industries. Not that they saw many people at all. 

Finally they were herded into a lab with heavy locks on the doors, and shoved into a cell. It was roomy and relatively comfortable, but a cell nonetheless. 

“If you’re gonna stick us in here, at least take these off?” Rogers asked, holding up his arms in their restraints. “C’mon, we’re cooperating here. We wanna know what happened as much as you do.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. They’d used the same heavy shackles for him as they had for Rogers; by now his neck and shoulders ached from the weight of them, and his wrists were raw underneath them. 

After some discussion a guard returned and removed their restraints, eyeing them both suspiciously as she shut the door. 

“You think this room is super soldier proof?” Steve muttered.

Rogers sighed. “Probably not. But I don’t wanna test it right now, not until I know what they’ve got in store for us.”

Steve walked over to one of the benches and sat heavily. Despite the fact that he’d just been sitting for a four hour flight he was weary. Probably a leftover of their long trek the night before. “For me, you mean. You’re still normal as far as they’re concerned.”

The next forty-eight hours or so were hazy. Steve kept losing track of the time and would wake suddenly to find himself alone, or with Rogers draped around him, providing body heat that wasn’t needed in the temperature controlled lab. He was questioned at least five times, hooked up to a polygraph twice, and poked and prodded all over. Steve didn’t exactly go along with it quietly, but he more or less let them do whatever they wanted. Although, when they tried to take blood a fourth time, Rogers kicked up one hell of a stink.

“He’s clearly anemic!” he yelled through the door of their cell, which apparently wasn’t anything close to soundproof. “You’re gonna put him in a goddamned coma!”

Finally, after what felt like a week, Tony and Pepper turned up. They were both hiding their concern: Pepper with brisk professionalism, Tony with sarcasm. Still, it was nice to see a friendly face. 

“Come on, Caps,” Tony said, shaking hands with them both warmly. “They said I can keep you under house arrest for a little while. We are gonna watch _so_ many movies.”

Rogers looked annoyed, but Steve kind of appreciated the false cheer. More than that, he appreciated the way Tony and Pepper studiously avoided staring at him, which after three days with a bunch of doctors and scientists, was like a breath of fresh air.

 

 

Tony had been arguing on video call with Fury and Coulson for about twenty minutes, and Steve had a headache. He and Rogers had waited impatiently while the doctor checked Steve over in painstaking detail; drawing blood, checking his blood pressure, teaching him how to use an asthma inhaler. Because yeah, that was back. Everything that had ever been wrong with his body was back with a vengeance. In fact, he couldn’t remember everything hurting so badly before, and he wasn’t sure if it was that he’d become desensitized to the constant pain, or if it was just the natural progression of his illnesses over time making everything more painful now because he was older. 

After a little while the doctor must have noticed Steve’s grimace, and she drew him quietly to one side, out of earshot of Rogers. 

“Cap—uh, Steve? Can you rate your pain for me on a scale of one to ten?”

Steve snorted. “I dunno, two? I’m fine, doc.”

The doctor shook her head. “With respect, Captain, drop the tough guy act. Right now. It’s obvious that you’re in pain, and I want to know where it hurts and how badly.”

With an uneasy glance at Rogers, who was hovering near Tony’s argument looking bored and annoyed, Steve sighed and let his shoulders drop. “Fine,” he said, before quickly listing the issues he’d been having since the incident. He updated his pain number to a four and promised to let her know if it became more severe, although privately he told himself he wouldn’t be going above a five. Plenty of people had it worse than he did.

He and Rogers had drawn a crowd by the time the doctor was finished, and Tony and Fury were still bickering, albeit more quietly than before. As soon as Steve was given the all clear to leave the infirmary, he climbed unsteadily off the gurney and set his shoulders. 

“Hey, uh—Steve? Where’re you going?”

He glared over his shoulder. His head was pounding, and he really could care less about the scientific pissing match. If it was important, Rogers would tell him later. “If it’s alright with me, myself and I, I’m going upstairs to change,” he snapped. Rogers shrugged, and Steve snorted derisively and turned back to the door. “Let me know if they decide to stick me in a cage, you know where I’ll be.” He clutched the feeble hospital gown around himself and walked to the door with his back held as straight as he could manage it. Steve was proud that he made it all the way to his floor in the tower before his legs gave out under him. His chest still felt kind of tight, but it wasn’t asthma that had felled him so much as his body had just run out of juice. He sat against the wall for a few moments, breathing heavily, before JARVIS chirped in. 

“Excuse me, Captain—”

“Just Steve,” he said sharply. 

“Do you need any assistance? 

Steve groaned and slammed his fist against the wall. “I’m fine, JARVIS. Don’t you dare call anyone.”

“Of course not, sir, though you might be interested to know that Captain Rogers is on his way up.”

“Perfect.” Steve made a face, and took half of a deep breath before dragging himself to his feet again. He’d almost made it all the way to the bedroom by the time he heard the elevator open. JARVIS must’ve delayed him. Steve slammed the bedroom door shut behind him and started rooting through his clothes for something to wear. He pulled on a t-shirt and hoodie that were far too big, and rummaged around for the pair of running tights he never really used, but at least would be clingy enough that they shouldn’t fall down. It would do until he could get some real clothes. The tights were still baggy enough that nobody would see his junk, and even then, the hoodie was long enough to cover anything. And there was less to see, obviously. Strangely, Steve minded that less than everything else. 

When he walked out of the room, he could hear Rogers clattering around in the kitchen, and he huffed out a heavy sigh. They'd had an optometrist give him a prescription for glasses, and the doctor had told him they could fix him up with a temporary hearing aid. He appreciated the kindness, but he didn’t want it. Didn’t want to need it. On the other hand his hearing loss, like the pain, seemed to be worse than he remembered it. 

“Hey there,” Rogers called out to him, not turning until he was a few steps away. “Doc said we oughta eat something.”

Steve rolled his eyes and leaned against the kitchen island, supporting his weight on it. It wouldn’t fool Rogers. “I don’t need-”

“Don’t get proud with _me_ ,” Rogers snapped at him. “Sit.”

Steve pinched his mouth shut and nodded. Sure, Rogers could handle it better, but they were both tired after everything. First the—incident, whatever it was—then there was the long overdue extraction, the endless questioning, the multiple checks by doctors and scientists and psychologists before they were even allowed _near_ the tower. He watched in a dazed silence while Rogers put together sandwiches for them both. He ate slowly, while Rogers ate fast. He was so tired, he felt like he couldn’t think straight. 

“Wonder what Bucky would say,” Rogers murmured, half to himself. All to himself, really. His voice was casual, like he’d hardly even thought about what he was saying, but Steve tensed up. 

“Shit. Bucky.” They turned to look at each other, realization dawning slowly.

“Fuck. You think anyone told him yet?”

Steve shook his head. “I doubt it.” He looked back down at his food and sighed. “Pretty sure he’s incommunicado for the foreseeable future.”

“Yeah,” Rogers said, with a disgusted noise. “The way they want him.”

“Right.” 

"I'll call Coulson anyway, ask him to pass it on."

Steve just shrugged. 

Rogers laughed under this breath. “This is uncanny.”

“For you, maybe,” Steve muttered. “For me it just hurts like hell.”

“I know that,” Rogers said, gently. He pushed his plate away and shook his head slowly. “I—”

“You’re sorry, I know.” Steve gave him a fake, crooked smile. “I _know_.”

“Yeah, I guess you do.” He sighed. “And I know when you’re fake-smiling, so quit it.”

They fell into silence. It wasn’t awkward, exactly, because they more or less knew just what the other would say next. Every time Steve thought of something, he realized there was no point saying it and he kept his mouth shut instead. 

"Tony said he can clone the laptop," Rogers said eventually, his tone easy and conversational. 

Steve looked out of the window absently. "Shit," he said quietly, "I hadn't even thought of that. We'll be sharing everything. Everything except clothes I guess."

"Pepper offered to take you shopping, if you want. I think she really wants to help."

"Like she doesn't have enough to deal with, now she's gotta help me pick between three identical shades of dark grey jeans," Steve muttered. 

Rogers tilted his head with a smirk. "Careful, grandpa. Your wrinkles are showing."

"Fine, fine," Steve said with an extravagant sigh. "I'll go shopping with Pepper. But not today.” 

"Tired?" 

Steve gritted his teeth before nodding once. 

"Sorry," Rogers said, his brow crumpling with misplaced empathy. God, he looked stupid. 

Steve shook his head. "Nothing I can't handle. A good night's sleep will sort me out."

Rogers made a noncommittal sound in his throat, but as Steve hopped of the stool, he sighed quietly. "No bullshit, okay?"

"I'm gonna use the laptop," Steve said, ignoring him. "I'll take the guest bedroom."

"You don't need to do that. I can—"

Steve cut him off. "There isn't much in there besides clothes, buddy, and they're not much good to me right now."

Rogers groaned. "I can move the clothes. Jesus, it's your room too."

"I'm taking the guest room," Steve snapped. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Steven?"

Steve didn't miss the surprise on Rogers' face at that. "In the unlikely event that anyone wants to see _me_ instead of Captain Rogers, please tell them I'm not available."

"Certainly, sir."

Rogers cleared his throat. "Uh, Steve?"

"Later," Steve muttered, grabbing the laptop off the coffee table. Despite having eaten, the headache was worse than ever, pounding behind his eyes, and he was starting to feel shaky all over. The lack of sleep was catching up. Rogers would probably realize later why Steve was struggling, that once upon a time he hadn't been able to run on two hours sleep, but hopefully Steve would be fast asleep by then and wouldn't have to see the pity in his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hands if you're here to watch Steve bang himself

For the first few days Steve kept mostly to himself. He spent most of it sleeping, politely excusing himself from doctor's appointments and self-medicating with protein shakes and long showers instead. When he wasn't too tired, he did calisthenics in his room, and ordered some new clothes online. They were plain and nondescript, but they fitted okay, which was all he really cared about. It wasn’t like this was going to last forever.

Steve was disappointed but unsurprised to find that he couldn’t do a push up, at least not very successfully, and his balance was fucked. That last part he’d already put together from his sudden lack of grace, the tendency to bump into things. It was the same general sense of being at odds with his body that he’d felt straight after the serum. He would reach for things, only to find that he’d judged the distance for a longer reach, or he’d misjudge a step and stumble. If he’d felt the slightest bit inclined to go out or socialize with anyone, that crushed his desire to do anything about it. 

He covered up the mirrors in the guest room on the second day. He couldn’t stand the sight of himself so pale and scrawny. Once or twice Rogers tried to coax him out of the apartment, but they were awkward around each other, and mostly avoided contact. 

After about four days Sam showed up.

"Why are you avoiding the medical staff?"

Steve sighed. "Hi, Sam."

"Hi asshole. Can I come in?"

Rogers was out with Natasha, so Steve waved him inside and went into the kitchen to make coffee. "I'm not avoiding them," he said at last, when Sam valiantly refused to say anything at all. 

"Steve, you've missed three appointments in as many days."

"And you'd know that how?" Steve fixed him with a look, but Sam just stared back at him. Finally Steve shrugged. "I don't want a hearing aid, my asthma's fine, and I'm eating healthy. What more is there to talk about?"

"Plenty, I imagine. This ain't a cake walk for either of you."

"Sam—"

"Steve. Hear me out. What you've both experienced is incredibly traumatic, especially for you. You _need_ to talk to someone."

Sam sat down at the breakfast bar and rested his arms on the counter. His expression was neutral, but all Steve could think about was how many times he'd ended up in this position, with his friends trying to tell him he needed to _talk_. 

"I know," he muttered, setting down the coffee and slumping into the seat opposite Sam's. He smirked at Sam's doubtful expression. “I _do_ , okay? Talking helps, got it. But who the hell is qualified to talk me through something like _this_?"

"Good question," Sam said, smiling at him gently.

"I know you're not volunteering."

"Hell no, brother, you're way above my pay grade." He grinned and Steve let himself laugh at it a little, and Sam went on, "But that's not the point anyway. Some direct experience can be helpful, yes, but it's not essential to listen to you talk about how you're feeling."

"Other than the laundry list of supposed health issues," Steve said with a wry look, "I'm fine."

Sam reached out for his cup. "Oh, great," he said in an amiable voice. "That's a relief. Forget I said anything."

Steve winced. "Sorry. That was automatic. I don't mean to shut anyone out."

"You don't?" 

Sam gave him a long, piercing look. Steve looked away when he found he didn't have an answer. It would be easier if Sam was really angry at him, but Sam knew how to let his anger go in a way that Steve hadn't mastered. 

Sam sighed and set down his coffee. "Steve, I don't wanna wring blood from a stone. You don't have to talk to me, or Nat. It doesn’t even have to be your doctor. Talk to a plant if you gotta, just, please, talk to _someone_."

 

 

"I'm gonna go see a therapist on Wednesday," Steve told Rogers that evening. They were idly watching sport on the oversized tv. Both on their third beer, which meant Steve was on his way past tipsy, and Rogers' shoulders had finally relaxed. 

Rogers looked surprised. "That's great."

"I picked a new one, figured that would be easier."

"Oh, yeah. Good idea." He put down his beer with a sigh. "I'm sorry about all this. You having to—share everything, I mean. That can't help."

There wasn’t anything to say to that, so Steve left it alone, turning his thoughts over slowly. "What do you think would happen?" he asked at last, rolling the beer bottle in his hands. "If they could put us back, I mean. Would we have both sets of memories, you think?"

After a few moments of pensively staring at his beer, Rogers made a thoughtful sound. "Y'know,  
Bucky would love this."

"Yeah, it's right out of a pulp novel."

"I'm not ignoring your question," Rogers said a minute later. "I guess I don't know _what_ I think will happen."

Steve shrugged. "I guess nothing really changes for you, huh? Went in big, stayed big, and if it gets put back right, you'll still be big."

Rogers stared at him. "You know that isn't all I care about. Fuck, I couldn't give a shit about what size I am."

"Right, because going back to this has been my dream all along," Steve said, gesturing at himself with a grim expression. There was a long pause in which Rogers didn't reply, and finally Steve looked over to see him staring thoughtfully into his beer bottle. He looked up and caught Steve's eye, and the look on his face was bewildered and full of longing. 

"Fuck," Steve said, with a sudden rush of nausea. "You do, you actually think you want this." 

"No, it's just—"

Steve shook his head. "Well, you're fucking welcome to it."

"Wait," Rogers said, as Steve set down his beer and hopped off his barstool. 

"Screw off," Steve muttered, walking away from him. 

Rogers got up to follow, his stool scraping harshly against the kitchen tiles, but Steve swung round to face him before he'd got as far as the bedroom, making Rogers pull up short with a guilty look. 

"You know what, no," Steve growled, squaring his shoulders. "Let's go back a step so you can tell me all about how great it would be to turn back the clock."

"That wasn't what I said," Rogers snapped. " _Or_ what I meant."

"You don't—"

"I still remember, stupid," he yelled over Steve. "I still know how it feels. Counting steps, counting breaths, trying not to let anyone see how much I was always falling behind."

"And now you always get to be at the front," Steve said in a weary voice. "Your name in lights, everyone following two steps behind _you_ , and where does that leave me?"

"Don't hold back," Rogers said in a stiff, sarcastic tone. "Tell me how you really feel."

"Shut up," Steve growled. 

"I wanted to be a soldier, not a celebrity."

"And now you don't wanna be either," Steve said with a twinge of empathy. After all, he'd been the one thinking it until just recently. 

"Too bad for me," Rogers muttered. "You, on the other hand, you can do anything now."

Steve laughed unhappily. "Sure, anything but the one thing I've ever been good at."

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I thought that’d be obvious.” Steve cocked his fingers like a gun, and Rogers' expression pinched up: tight and unhappy. Steve was a little horrified to see that expression on his own face; it reminded him of his grandma. 

"Sam would hit you if he heard you talking like that."

"Sam isn't here," Steve said, shrugging. "And besides, he wouldn't hit me now. He might actually break me." 

Rogers groaned. "And when you're done feeling sorry for yourself—"

"Oh, my apologies," Steve said, rolling his eyes. "I forgot there's a fucking rulebook about exactly how shitty I'm allowed to feel right now."

"Fine," Rogers said, folding his arms. "Let's hear it."

Steve scoffed, but Rogers didn't move. "What?" Steve snapped. Rogers just kept staring at him, and Steve shuffled awkwardly. "It's not like I'm gonna say anything you don't already know."

"Try me."

Steve started to turn away. "Forget it."

He reeled suddenly, caught by his right arm, and turned to find Rogers gripping him hard, his gaze hot and furious. 

"Get off me," Steve snapped, trying to wrench himself free, only succeeding in almost pulling his arm out of socket. Rogers still didn't release him, but at least he didn't comment on Steve's momentary wince of pain. "Would you—Rogers—get the _fuck_ off!"

He pushed hard at Rogers’ chest. He didn’t stumble back, of course, but he took half a step away, which was something at least. 

“We’re not different,” Rogers said angrily.

“Yes we _are_.”

Rogers huffed in frustration, and he opened his mouth to say something else. Steve was sick of it. Whatever it was, he didn’t want it. He was so _tired_ of arguing, and always with himself. There was nothing they _needed_ to say to each other and yet they couldn’t seem to stop. So he did the one thing he could think of that would shut Rogers up for good; the thing he could do that would _prove_ how different they were. 

He grabbed Rogers by the collar of his t-shirt and pulled him down to kiss him. Rogers made a startled noise, but he didn’t pull away. Of course he wouldn’t. It was so strange, kissing him: like kissing someone who’d just drunk a glass of water, their taste disappearing for a minute under the wetness. Rogers tasted of nothing in particular except for a trace of beer. 

“Is this—” Rogers gasped against his mouth, “—s’posed to prove something?”

Steve snarled and bit Rogers’ lip. “Shut up.”

He’d never considered himself post-serum as a sexual prospect before. Obviously. But, even in an abstract way, thinking about how he looked and appealed to other people, Steve had always found it too strange to contemplate. He looked like that because he had to: to sell bonds, to save lives, to kill people. He wasn’t dumb. He knew he was unattractive before—now, that he’d gone back to that—and that after the serum he could turn heads, but he’d never thought about whether _he_ would be attracted to it before. Apparently he still had a thing for big guys, because even while it annoyed him, something about Rogers grabbing his upper arms and hustling him to the couch without the slightest effort, was kind of hot. 

It made some gnarled, traitorous part of him think of _Bucky_ doing that to him, and Steve had to stifle a moan at the thought.

“You don’t—uh, you don’t need to keep quiet,” Rogers mumbled, glancing off shyly. “I mean—it’s not like I don’t—Jesus. What’re we doing?”

“Wasting time,” Steve muttered, seeing the hesitation and ploughing right through it. Although he knew to expect it, he couldn’t take that rejection from himself. He pushed Rogers onto his back along the couch and climbed on top of him. 

“You’ve been drinking,” Rogers said in a hesitant voice. Steve had a snarled remark ready on his tongue but then he made himself look again. Rogers was already getting hard in his jeans; Steve could feel it when he straddled his thighs, one foot dangling to the floor, his hands propped on Rogers’ chest as he leaned in closer. It wasn’t a rejection; Rogers _still_ couldn’t believe someone wanted him. 

Steve snorted. “I’m sober enough. I know what I’m doing.”

Rogers let him have the reins, maybe getting that there was something here that Steve needed, something he had to take. His hands came up around Steve’s shoulders, cradling him easily in the shape of his arms, and his fingers strayed into Steve’s hair, slow and tentative. Steve knew he could be shy in bed at first, but this was different. Neither of them knew what was okay, what was too weird, and Steve had a strange, thrilling thought that maybe this was a little like kissing a sibling. 

He pushed that away quickly, because it _wasn’t_ , damn it. If anything it was just a more advanced form of masturbation, and there was also the fact that he’d always thought of _Bucky_ as a brother, and it made him feel hot and awkward when that got mixed up with a vague, unidentifiable lust in Bucky’s direction. Steve had been looking the other way from that in months—it was easier, of course, when Bucky was away for indeterminate stretches of time—and he didn’t intend to start examining it now.

“Is this—okay?” Rogers asked uncertainly, one of his hands slipping gently down Steve’s spine. 

Steve shrugged. “You know what I like, pal.”

Rogers nodded, putting both hands on Steve’s hips and digging his fingers in _hard_. Probably hard enough to bruise, the way Steve’s pathetic body was now. He moaned loudly, grinding down with his hips, ass rubbing over Rogers’ dick where it was pressing up against him. 

“That’s better,” Rogers muttered, and his smug tone made Steve furious. 

He grabbed Rogers’ hands and pushed them down, pinning them against his sides. “No,” he said quietly. “Stand the fuck down, Captain.”

Rogers scowled, but his pupils had gone wide, and he licked his mouth without thinking. God, he had so many fucking tells. Maybe Steve could work on that. 

"What do you wanna do?" Rogers murmured, rolling his hips up. 

Steve groaned and pressed back down. "Don't care. You know how long it's been."

Rogers pulled against his grip, asking to be released even though they both knew he could've gotten out of Steve's grasp without even trying. "Can I—touch you?"

His fingers were twitching against Steve's thighs, surprising Steve with how much he apparently wanted it. But then, Steve was well aware how fucking touch starved he'd been lately. Apparently even skinny and useless, he was enough. Something to grind against at least. Steve released his hands, and Rogers immediately skimmed them up his sides, slipping up under his sweater. His palms cupped around Steve's scapulae, drawing him close so they could kiss again. 

It was more tenderness than Steve could handle, so he turned the kiss rough and dirty, relishing the urgent noises Rogers made into his mouth. Rogers' fingers gripped harder, digging into his back, and Steve moaned and grabbed his hair, tilting his head back to bite his neck. 

The sound Rogers made then was actually obscene, and Steve felt a confusing jolt of arousal, at the same time as he felt embarrassed that he sounded like that. He almost made a comment about it, but Rogers was slumping back underneath him, heavy eyed and panting, and Steve didn't really want to spoil the moment, such as it was. 

Instead, he wriggled his hand between them and unfastened Rogers' jeans. His dick was trapped to one side by his boxers, and he keened loudly when Steve slipped his hand in to pull it free. 

"God, that feels better, thanks," Rogers mumbled in a breathless voice.

Steve nodded, stroking it slowly. It was strange, not like hooking up with anyone else for the first time, because he knew exactly what it looked like, what it felt like in his hand, and where to touch it to make him feel good. It felt a little bigger, but he realized it was just because his hands were smaller. 

"This okay?" Rogers asked, looking up at him very seriously. His cheeks were apple-flushed, like a kid off an old ad for soap. 

Steve laughed at him. "Not like this is new to me."

Rogers frowned. "Can I—" 

He slid one hand down to the small of Steve's back, and moved the other around to rub at the meager bulge in his sweatpants. Steve arched into the contact, his dick jumping like it'd never been touched before, and he was horrified when he realized that pathetic whining noise was coming out of _him_. 

"Oh wow," Rogers murmured, slipping his fingers inside of Steve's sweatpants and taking his little prick in his hand. He jacked it a few times, his expression soft and reverent, before he dragged his eyes up to Steve's face, biting his lip. "Can I suck you off?"

Steve nodded wordlessly and let Rogers pull him closer. He shuffled up, biting down the urge to complain when Rogers slid his sweatpants down over his ass and settled Steve on his chest. It was an awkward angle, Rogers tilting his head down to lick the end of Steve's prick, but he didn't seem to care. His eyes slipped closed as he took the end of it in his mouth and Steve moaned softly. He couldn't stop staring at Rogers, startled by the delicate shadow his eyelashes made against his cheeks, the way his mouth was pink and soft; he'd always hated being labeled _feminine_ when he was small and sick, but it hadn't occurred to him before that he'd retained some of those delicate traits. He still had trouble recognizing himself in the mirror as the picture of manhood. To a degree, he saw the broad shoulders and the chiseled jaw and he let his brain join the rest of the dots. It had taken him months after the procedure to be able to pick himself out in a photo; any tall, fair, strong looking guy could've been him, as far as he knew. 

"C'mon," Rogers urged, pulling him closer, Steve's cock bouncing off his full lips. "Lemme have it."

When Steve hesitated, Rogers grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled him forward. Steve caught himself on the arm of the couch, while Rogers swallowed him down greedily, nose pressing into Steve's pubes. 

"Christ," Steve hissed, thumping his fist against the couch. He was pleasantly surprised to find that he was _really_ fucking good at giving head, which only made him feel _worse_ that it had been so long since he’d last gotten laid. The male-loving community of New York was missing out. He moaned, low in his chest, and Rogers made a low, encouraging sound, kneading Steve’s ass with both hands and urging him to shift his hips back and forth and fuck into the soft, clutching heat of his mouth. 

“God,” Steve gasped, dropping his head to the arm of the couch too, so that he was all but wrapped around Rogers’ face. “Gonna finish pretty quick, you keep that up.”

Rogers hummed and sucked harder, and Steve reached down to grab his hair and pull _hard_. 

“Stop, stop,” he hissed, pushing himself up. Rogers loosened his grasp without letting go entirely, and Steve flopped back against the couch cushions, his legs draped over Rogers’ stomach. “Fuck.”

“You wanna stop?” Rogers asked, looking up at him wide-eyed. 

Steve shook his head. He tried to find a way to explain, without telling Rogers he needed a breather. “Your room or mine?” he asked instead. 

They ended up on Rogers’ bed, though it took them a while to get there. Steve tried to storm off, hitching his sweatpants back up as he scrambled off the couch, but Rogers caught him by his shoulder, slipping an arm around his waist and bending to bite his neck. Steve moaned and leaned back into him, letting Rogers take his weight for a moment, rubbing up against the solid weight of Rogers’ dick digging into his lower back. He turned and tugged Rogers down into a snarling kiss, surprised at himself that he wanted to keep doing it. Maybe it was the strangeness of kissing himself; a little like roughhousing with Bucky used to be, the way they knew each other’s moves back to front. 

Steve got his hands into Rogers’ underwear again, grabbing his dick and rubbing it smooth and sure, wondering if Rogers could tell that his hands were smaller. He’d probably already noticed before tonight and hadn’t said anything. “This ain’t the way to your bedroom,” Steve murmured, shivering when Rogers’ hands dipped below the waistband of his sweatpants again. Seriously, his ass _wasn’t_ anything to write home about these days, but Rogers seemed pretty set on getting his hands on it. "Though if you just wanna screw on the floor out here, you could say so." 

Rogers made a desperate noise against his throat, grabbing him more tightly before hauling him up, one forearm tucked snug under Steve's ass, the other tugging Steve's left leg around his hips. Steve flashed momentarily between mortified and embarrassingly turned on, but then he wrapped both his thighs around Rogers and _squeezed_ , and the noise that earned him was worth a lot of humiliation. 

Rogers walked them in the direction of the bedroom, his navigation thrown off by the way Steve was grabbing his hair so he could pull his head to one side and bite his neck and shoulder. They bumped into the wall outside the bedroom, Rogers flattening him against it and leaning his weight into him. Steve was thrilled by the compression of his chest, the way Rogers didn't treat him like a porcelain doll. 

They made it to his bed eventually, and Steve reached for the bedside drawer without thinking. He hesitated with his fingers on the handle. 

"It's okay," Rogers said behind him. "Get it out, I wanna do this."

Nodding, Steve retrieved the lube and tossed it onto the bed just as Rogers rolled him onto his back and started kissing down his belly. He honed straight in on Steve's ticklish hips, but Steve wasn't in a mood to be toyed with, and he wriggled away from Rogers' attentions. 

"Bend over," he said, kneeling beside Rogers on the bed. "I know how badly you wanna get fucked."

Rogers started to blush faintly, but it didn't stop him from replying with a sardonic smile. "I wasn't thinking I'd be the one to do it."

"Right, I forgot you're rolling in offers," Steve said, rolling his eyes. He pushed Rogers forward onto the bed, and was gratified when he actually went. It's not like Steve could've made him go if he didn't want to. So he must want to. Rogers settled himself on all fours, and Steve nodded approvingly. He grabbed Rogers' jeans by his back pockets and hauled them down to his knees, along with his underwear. 

"Pretty fast," Rogers gasped, hips twitching. 

Steve snorted. "You wanna take it _slow_?"

"No."

"Alright then." 

Steve didn't linger; neither of them would appreciate the other taking too much time to prep, not to mention that neither of them had taken the time to clean up, and Steve was wiping off his fingers on the sheets as he reached for the condoms. Safe they didn’t really need to worry about, given the circumstances, but there was also _clean_ and _hygienic_ to consider. 

“There’s some, uh—some wipes, in—”

“I remember,” Steve muttered, pulling a pack of baby wipes out of the drawer with the unopened box of condoms.

Rogers started shifting impatiently while Steve pulled his sweatpants off all the way and rolled the condom on. He tapped Rogers’ shoulder a couple of times until he dropped them, resting his head on his arms so that his back arched up beautifully. Without being asked, he spread his knees wider so that his hips dropped down, closer to the right height for Steve to fuck him. 

"In in in," Rogers gasped, when Steve laid a proprietary hand on the small of his back, and Steve rolled his eyes as he nudged his slick cock up against Rogers' hole, rubbing over it wetly. Rogers whined, shifting his hips back towards Steve.

"Have some patience," Steve said in a lazy voice, moving his hand around to grip Rogers' hip, lining the head of his prick up at Rogers' hole with his other hand. "I'm getting to it."

Rogers moaned whorishly when Steve slowly worked his way inside. He gripped Rogers' hips tightly, his eyes squeezed shut. He was trying hard not to lose it already; the sight of Rogers' arched, muscular back, of his own prick struggling into that hot, red hole, that would be too much right now. 

"Jesus," he murmured, when he was buried to his balls. He opened his eyes finally and laughed a little. "This is really strange."

"Feels good," Rogers whined, rocking back and forth on his dick. Steve rolled his eyes again. Christ, he could be a greedy son of a bitch in bed when it came to getting laid. 

"You'd say that no matter what I stuck up there," Steve muttered, shifting the balance of his weight on his knees before starting to fuck Rogers slowly.

Rogers huffed, sounding amused. "What did you have in mind?"

Steve thrusts home a little harder and they both groan. "Dunno," he said, reaching up to run his hands from Rogers' hips, down his back. "Start small maybe. A hairbrush or something. Wooden spoon."

"Christ," Rogers hissed, shuddering. "What next, you gonna raid Tony's toolbox?"

"Oh, that's just _nasty_ ," Steve said. 

Rogers turned his head to look at him, and Steve saw Rogers catch the sneer on his face, saw the blush creep down his neck. 

"Tony would be so jealous, getting to have sex with myself," Rogers said in an uneven voice, and Steve started laughing properly. 

"Shit," he said, when his breath caught and he coughed. "God, I can't think about Tony when I'm doing this."

Rogers made a thoughtful noise. "So think about Bucky," he said after a moment.

Steve took his breath in sharp and held it. _No_ , that was the one thing he _couldn't_ do. If he let himself slip down that mountainside, he'd never come back. 

"Look," Rogers said, sensing his hesitation, probably because Steve had stopped fucking him. "You don't wanna be shouting your own name when you come, and I don't care if you pretend I'm him."

Steve let his breath out slowly before jabbing his hips forward, fast and hard. "I don't need that," he said over the sound of Rogers moaning. 

Rogers started rocking back against him, more urgent than before, fucking himself on Steve's dick. "Sure," he gasped, "but you can't lie to _me_."

Steve came quickly with the sensation of Rogers fucking himself hard, ass clenching Steve's dick tight. He bit down on his tongue to keep any names in check, letting loose a vague, animal grunt instead. He’d be embarrassed about how quickly he’d come, but Rogers would understand. Steve pulled out after a minute, wincing at how oversensitive his dick felt. He peeled off the condom and tossed it in the trash, before turning his attention back to Rogers, who was sprawled on his back now, jerking himself off with his eyes shut and his knees pulled up. 

Steve could imagine himself reaching over, offering a hand. He could imagine crawling between Rogers’ thighs and taking his cock right to the back of his throat. But something held him back, something probably childish and sullen, and instead he picked up his sweatpants and moved towards the door. 

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” he mumbled. He didn’t look over his shoulder; couldn’t bear the sight of Rogers: tall and lean and perfect and pleasuring himself without worry. Steve wondered if he remembered that even _that_ gave Steve trouble sometimes. He couldn’t think if he’d remembered it before this all happened. 

Rogers didn’t say anything as Steve slipped out of the door and shut it behind him, but Steve knew he wouldn’t be _happy_ about it. That was too bad. Steve felt overcome suddenly by the strangeness of the situation, felt a kind of sick revulsion at himself for getting so carried away. He went to the guest bathroom and took a long, scalding shower.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve was up late the next day. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep for hours, the sex only serving to make him antsy and on edge. Part of him wished he'd never started it.

When he finally got up he found Rogers sitting at the breakfast bar, eating an omelette and thumbing through his tablet. His t-shirt was stained with sweat; presumably he’d spent the past three hours destroying the gym downstairs. 

"Hey," Steve said, trying not to sound awkward. He stretched and scratched at his stomach before freezing, embarrassed, when Rogers chose that moment to look over. 

"Morning," Rogers said, turning his eyes back to the tablet without lingering. "Coulson called from the Bus."

Steve startled at the unexpected news, feeling his gut churn in anticipation. He walked over. "And? What did he say?"

"Mostly nothing useful," Rogers muttered bitterly. "You can listen to the message if you want. But he said Bucky should be home within a fortnight."

"That soon?" Steve said, frustrated by how eager his voice sounded in his own ears. 

Rogers nodded. He stuck the last of his omelette in his mouth and chewed determinedly. 

"You made coffee?" Steve asked, walking into the kitchenette and finding himself a cup. 

Rogers pushed his plate aside with a nod. "We're not telling anyone about last night, are we?" It wasn't really a question; there was a resigned tone that suggested he already knew the answer. “Can you drink that stuff?”

Steve’s shoulders tensed momentarily. “I think I’ll survive,” he said, trying not to let it goad him. "You're thinking about what they'd say, aren't you?" Steve said instead. "The others I mean."

"You know most of them would do the same, in, uh—in our position."

Steve snorted. "Yeah, well, all of you are hot."

Rogers stared at him. "What does that mean?"

"I mean you're all attractive physical specimens, dumbass. Why _wouldn't_ they sleep with themselves if they got a shot?" He sipped his coffee and sighed. "I'm sorry you pulled the short straw is all." He smirked. "Literally."

"That's not how I feel about it," Rogers said carefully. 

Steve put his coffee down on the counter. "Really."

Rogers just shrugged. "You don't have to believe me, but you know I'm not lying." For a moment they just looked at one another, then eventually Rogers cleared his throat and got to his feet. "Sam says hi, by the way," he said, carrying his dish over to the sink. "He asked if you wanna get coffee later."

Steve nodded. "Maybe I'll give him a call."

"You should."

"He can’t exactly be hurting for my company, Rogers, he’s seen _you_ practically every day.”

Rogers shrugged. “I’m just the messenger. Don’t be an asshole to Sam.”

Steve scowled and picked up his coffee again. He wanted to think of a comeback, but Rogers was already heading for the shower. 

“I’ve gotta leave tonight,” Rogers said as he walked away. He added something else, but it was lost as he turned the corner and a sudden ringing noise in Steve's left ear drowned out his words.

“Great,” Steve muttered, tilting his head with a wince. “ _This_ again.” He thought with annoyance of making yet _another_ trip to see the doctor. There had to be some way that he could avoid it, but no doubt she’d check up on him anyway. Steve had a sneaking suspicion that JARVIS was reporting to her about his health levels behind his back. 

“JARVIS?” he said in a weary voice.

“Yes, Steven?”

“Can you please tell Doctor Flores that I have tinnitus? No doubt she’ll wanna make an appointment.”

“Certainly.”

 

 

In the end, it was Sam _and_ Nat who dragged him out of the tower to grab coffee at Steve’s favorite café. He and Sam got breakfast there a lot, but it felt strange to walk in and have Jessica smile at him without recognition. 

“Hi, Sam! No Steve today?” she asked, smiling as she brought them menus. “But I see you’ve brought someone else just as cute along for me to meet. Hey, I’m Jessica.”

Steve cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, Eddie,” he mumbled, picking up his menu so he could avoid her cheerful gaze. Sam gave him a withering look, which Steve ignored. Nat looked a little more sympathetic, but she also started flirting with Jessica, asking her in detail about the specials, so that she ended up hanging around their table chatting for a good ten minutes. 

"Thanks for that," Steve mumbled, scowling at them when Jessica finally left with their order. Nat and Sam exchanged a look. "I saw that," Steve said mutinously. "I'm deaf, not blind."

"Well, you're a barrel of sunshine today, Eddie," Sam said, raising his eyebrows. 

Steve shook his head. "Sorry, guys," he said, heaving a sigh. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“We get it, Steve,” Nat said, reaching over to touch his wrist briefly with her fingertips. “Nobody’s expecting you to find this easy.”

“Does it look like I’m struggling then?” Steve joked, smiling crookedly at her. It didn’t take. "Yeah, don't answer that."

"You _look_ like you haven't slept," Sam said in his dad voice. 

“That darn Netflix,” Steve said, with something like a smile. 

Nat quirked her eyebrow. “Late night watching TV by yourself?”

Steve shrugged. “Whatcha gonna do, right?”

“Oh, talk to your _friends_ , maybe?” Sam teased. 

"No company then?" Natasha pressed.

Jessica came back with their coffee and juice then, so Steve and Sam pulled faces at each other while she wasn’t looking. Or at least, they thought she wasn’t. “Do you know Steve?” she asked as she was handing off Steve’s orange juice. “Are you—I dunno, a distant relation or something? You really remind me of him.”

“Just a coincidence,” Steve muttered, as Sam cut in with, “I’ve got a thing for blonds.” Steve flicked a spoon at him and Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Now now, boys,” she said quietly. Steve looked over and found that she was smiling at them indulgently. 

He always felt that Nat would make a good teacher. Sam too, obviously. Sam pretended to be exasperated by kids, but he was crazy about them, and Natasha had always had endless patience with new recruits and team members at SHIELD. They all came in blinking like rabbits caught in headlights when they heard they were training with two Avengers: starstruck by Steve, terrified of Natasha. But Nat was the one who put them at their ease; she knew what to say, using just the right mix of humor and sternness to keep them in line and encourage them to do their best. 

“So,” Sam said, after a beat of silence. “ _Was_ there someone there last night?”

Steve choked on his orange juice. While he mopped himself up with a couple of paper napkins, Sam and Nat both watched him with placid expressions. Steve glared at them. He wasn’t sure if there wasn’t anything between them—hadn’t tried asking—but since Nat had been back, they’d developed this weird twin-like ability to read each other’s minds. Probably they were both just incredibly perceptive people who were good at reading each other’s cues, not to mention _his_ , but to Steve it still came off as a little creepy. 

“Well, I guess you won’t believe me _now_ if I say no,” he muttered. 

“We wouldn’t have believed you anyway,” Natasha said, picking up her coffee.

Steve shook his head. “My sex life is not up for discussion over lunch.” Sam opened his mouth to speak and Steve shot him a glare. “ _Or_ afterwards.”

"This is no way to treat your official wingman," Sam muttered darkly. "I had to literally fight people to be your best friend."

Steve's eyes slid over to Natasha out of some sense of self preservation, but Sam noticed and made a sound of mock outrage. "Natasha conceded!" 

Steve raised an eyebrow and Natasha shrugged one shoulder. "I let him win."

"Superheroes suck," Sam muttered. "So how does—uh, _other_ Steve feel about you seeing someone?"

"I'm not," Steve said quickly. "Rogers already knows about it, but it's not gonna happen again anyway. It was stupid."

"Rogers," Nat said, with a piercing look. "I bet he loves that."

Steve shrugged. "I guess we could be Steve one and Steve two, but it's a little complicated. It's fine, he gets it." Sam and Nat both looked unconvinced. "Really," Steve said. "I know what he's thinking because he's _me_."

"He was," Nat said. "You're not that person anymore."

"Ouch," Steve replied, with an exaggerated wince. The sensible part of him knew that Natasha wouldn't mean to make him feel bad about being small and useless, but if she meant something else, she didn't explain. 

"Any word from your boy?" Sam asked, ignoring the tension.

Steve shook his head. "I haven't really talked to him since before he left. Rogers said he's coming back soon."

"He know about what happened yet?"

"I doubt it," Steve muttered. "He tends to go off the grid when he's working."

"And you don't think he checks for messages from you?" Natasha asked in an arch voice. 

Steve faltered momentarily. Honestly, even if Bucky had access to his messages, Steve hadn't really thought that Bucky would be eager to check whether he’d been in touch. He'd tried, at first, leaving friendly little messages or words of encouragement, just checking in every now and then. Bucky hadn't seemed to appreciate it. He'd accused Steve one time of stifling him, and after that Steve had backed off. 

“You should tell him,” Natasha went on, speaking gently. “Both of you. _Before_ he comes home.”

“I know,” Steve muttered, glancing down at the table. “We will.” He sighed. “Now can we stop talking about me and eat?”

Natasha and Sam weren’t tactless enough to let him see them exchanging a look, but he had no doubt they did it. Either way, they changed the subject, and the rest of brunch passed a little less awkwardly and a little more like just spending time with actual friends. 

 

 

“Mr Rogers?”

Steve looked up from his phone with a start. Although they didn’t sound annoyed, the therapist’s tone made it clear that it wasn’t the first time they’d said his name.

“Sorry, yeah,” he said, getting to his feet. He shoved his phone in his pocket. “Um, Doctor—?”

“Just Karen,” she said, offering her hand to shake. “May I call you Steven? Or Steve?”

He nodded, thrown off a little by her demeanor. “Steve is fine.”

She smiled and gestured for him to go ahead of her into the small office. Steve had been expecting someone stern and professional looking, or maybe someone like Sam, seeing as she’d come through his recommendation. But Karen was petite, chubby, and dressed like she was about to start fingerpainting with a bunch of three year olds. There was no desk in the room, just a small coffee table with a few chairs arranged near it. There was a squishy looking armchair, a hard-backed dining chair, and a couple that looked like the type found in high street coffee shop chains: the kind that looked comfortable until you’d sat in them for longer than fifteen minutes. 

He wanted to ask where he ought to sit, but he figured maybe it was a test. He settled for one of the coffee shop chairs, and Karen took the other one a couple of feet from him. She turned her chair so that she was facing him, though off to the side slightly. 

“Is it alright if I sit here?”

“It’s your office,” he said, shrugging.

“Right now this space is yours as much as mine, Steve. I need you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable at any point.”

He frowned a little. “I’ll be just fine, ma’am.”

She smiled. “Karen.” She picked up a file from the table. “I have the questionnaire you completed for me. Do you mind if we go through it?”

“Whatever you think.”

Most of the questions were fairly generic and Steve had kept his answers brief. No, he wasn’t concerned about his drinking, which was practically nonexistent anyway. No, he had no thoughts of harming himself. No, he didn’t really know why he thought therapy would be useful to him. 

“You’ve mentioned that your friends think you got a raw deal from what happened?”

Steve sniffed. “Yeah, well. Because I went back to this. I’m weak and small, I’m no use to anyone like this.”

“Do your friends feel that way?”

“I—I don’t know,” Steve said, shifting uncomfortably. He folded his hands in his lap, then tucked them under his thighs. “If they did, they wouldn’t tell me. They’d try and hide it from me.”

Karen inclined her head slightly to one side. “Why would they do that?”

Steve shrugged. “To spare my feelings I guess. They want me to feel like I can still be part of the team, but they don’t need me. They’ve still got Rogers.”

“Rogers being...the other version of yourself?”

“The big guy, yeah,” Steve said lightly. “I call him Rogers. It’s less confusing that way. Slightly less confusing, anyway.”

“Does he mind that?”

Steve glanced down and twisted his hands in his lap again. “Yeah, I think he does. He puts up with it because _he_ thinks I got a raw deal. Well, he _knows_ I did.”

“Because you share memories?”

“Until this happened, yeah. Same person. Different since then though. It’s not like we’re reading each other’s minds.” Steve cleared his throat, still looking down. “Could we—talk about something else, maybe? I get enough of being his sidekick outside of this room.”

Karen made a quiet noise of assent. “What would you like to talk about?”

“You’re the doctor,” Steve said, looking up at her with a rueful smile. “You tell me.”

“I’m just here to talk.”

Steve nodded. Everyone wanted him to talk and all Steve wanted to do was hit something. Hit something until it broke. 

“What are you feeling right now?” Karen asked him gently.

“Feeling?” Steve asked, meeting her eye before glancing off. His laugh came out low and bitter. “I feel like putting my fist through a wall.”

She nodded, expression neutral. “Do you want to tell me about that?”

“What, punching a wall?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t get you anywhere. I don’t recommend it.”

“Then what would you get from it?”

He groaned and slumped in his chair. “I don’t know. God. Catharsis, maybe? Let some frustration out.” Karen was silent after he spoke, and Steve glanced at her. “Gonna ask me what I’m frustrated about?”

Karen just stared back at him calmly. “Do you want me to ask?”

Steve laughed and threw his hands up. “I don’t get it. I don’t get how this is supposed to work.”

“It can be whatever you want,” she said. Her voice stayed calm and soothing throughout, Steve noticed, and her body language was open but very still. She must have practised a lot, to hold that aura around her, and a part of Steve resented the way it made him relax and want to shoot his mouth off. Maybe it was that it reminded him of Natasha, or even Sam. Sam knew how to be still and calm too, when someone needed to be heard. Steve had never really got the hang of doing it in the context of other people; he could move stealthily in battle, on a mission, but for the most part he was used to having too much energy to keep still. 

Karen must have noticed that he’d withdrawn somewhere inside himself—that _was_ her job after all—because she spoke again after a minute of silence. “If you like, we don’t have to talk at all. You can write things down, if you like, or maybe draw.”

Steve looked round at her, a little surprised. “Draw?”

She nodded. “Of course. This is _your time_ , Steve. Not mine, not anyone else’s, not even Rogers’. This time is for you, and we’ll spend it however you want.”

Steve’s mouth twitched a little. “I think maybe I’d like to draw.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lemme see those hands again if you’re here for Steve and Thor hella making out

A few days later he finally consented to shopping with Pepper. Rogers had disappeared the evening after their tryst, looking constipated and awkward when neither of them were sure whether or not he could tell Steve where he was going.

“Just promise me it’s not about Bucky,” Steve had said at last, to put Rogers out of his misery. “As long as you’re not trailing after him without me, just go do your thing.”

Then Rogers had clapped him on the shoulder, which was mortifying, although not as bad as a hug would’ve been. Rogers kind of looked like he wanted to hug Steve, but mercifully held himself back. 

Pepper collected him a little before nine in the morning, looking cheerful and low-key in a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt. “Ready?” she asked, after bending down to kiss him on the cheek. 

“Thanks for offering to do this, Pepper.” She smiled at him and Steve forced himself not to brush her off. “I know you’re really busy, so I appreciate—”

“Steve,” she said quickly, her voice taking on a shark-like edge, “let me stop you there. You’re a friend, okay? Not to mention a lovely person whose company I happen to enjoy.”

Steve smiled humbly, trying to think of something to say. “Thanks, Pepper, I—”

“And of course,” she added, her wry voice carrying over him, “I’m embarrassingly excited over the chance to dress up someone as cute as you.”

It stung, for a moment, but Steve rolled his eyes and gently talked himself down from taking offence. It would be easy to laugh it off from Sam or Clint; it was harder with Pepper. They didn’t know each other as well, and Steve hadn’t quite gotten to the stage yet where he felt comfortable enough to take a beating from her, even if he preferred it to the praise. But they _could_ be there, he could see that. Pepper was giving him the in. 

“Then I’m sorry you’re stuck with me,” he said, grinning. “I’m no Ken doll, but I’ll do my best.”

For a moment, Pepper hesitated, looking contrite. “Sorry,” she said gently. “I know what that sounded like, I’m used to the verbal sparring with Tony. Not that it’s any excuse.”

“Oh, no, Pepper, it’s fine—”

She shook her head. “You’re not a doll, Steve, and I—I’m sure this can’t be easy, for either of you. I was just hoping that it might help to find a little piece of you that’s just _you_. Does that make sense?”

A ball of tension inside Steve released suddenly, a warm feeling spilling out into him. “I—I hadn’t thought of that,” he said in a soft voice, quietly overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness. And then, because she still looked a little worried, he added, “So, who else knows that the CEO of Stark Industries still plays with dolls?”

Pepper laughed. “Actually, I was more into trucks than dolls. Maybe I’m trying to make up for lost time.”

She took him to a bakery first to grab coffee and pointed him in the direction of some low sugar pastries. Steve made a face, but Pepper quietly assured him that they were good, and she turned out to be right of course. Suitably armed, they hit the stores.

To his great relief, Pepper didn't mention a word about the Avengers, Rogers, or Bucky as they browsed a handful of stores. She wordlessly suggested clothes for him to try, testing out his boundaries and tastes. He instinctively stuck to dark and muted colors, but Pepper nudged him towards some blues and greens and promised that they did wonders for his coloring. 

As for conversation, they mostly talked about New York. They ranted about politics and the post-Chitauri clean-up. Steve had missed most of the work, being in DC and traveling so much until recently. In fact, the time since the incident with Rogers was probably the longest he'd spent in the city since the Chitauri attack. It was nice to look at the city with fresh eyes again, so to speak. Even if those eyes were shit. When he made the joke to Pepper, she looked horrified, and Steve felt horribly guilty.

“No, I’m fine really—”

“Steve, you should’ve said something!”

“I have contacts,” he said defensively.

Pepper shook her head. “But you don’t wear them, do you?” Steve flushed a little, but Pepper was undeterred. “Come on, I’m taking you to try on some glasses.”

“Glasses?” Steve said, with no small amount of trepidation. 

“Just to try,” she said, smiling gently. “What do you think? Might be a good way to seize a little of your own identity.”

"Alright," Steve said, meeting her smile. "Might be fun."

Pepper took him to a ridiculously high end designer place which didn't even have a name, just an elegant design of spectacles for a logo, which positively screamed _you don't belong_ to Steve in his scruffy, ill-fitting clothes. To his surprise though, they were treated with warm courtesy even before the store assistant knew who Pepper was. Having introduced herself as Sasha and talked to Steve about what he wanted—he had no idea, but nothing too flashy—she led him to sit on a high stool by a table with a mirror. 

Steve avoided looking in the mirror while Sasha talked about his face shape and coloring, and cooed over his cheekbones, which were, apparently, 'delicately masculine'. Pepper suppressed a giggle at Steve's expression, which made him smile at least.

“Do you think you could have the frames ready for collection today?” she asked.

Sasha nodded. “We’re not busy, I can have them run through the lab in about four hours if you’re able to collect then? I’d advise you come back yourself of course, Steve, so we can check the fit for you.”

After suggesting some colors and checking with Steve what he'd prefer, Sasha left to fetch him a selection of frames. Once she’d gone, Pepper leaned her weight against the table. "Well?" she said, glancing across the room where Sasha was rummaging through stock drawers. 

Steve shrugged. "I haven't tried any yet."

"I think she likes you," Pepper said, dropping her voice to a stage whisper. She looked at Steve with a funny, conspiratorial look, and Steve felt his gut lurch when he realized this could be his life. Just spending time with friends, flirting with strangers. Normal. 

"She's five inches taller than me," Steve said instead.

Pepper just looked at him. "So?"

Steve didn't have an answer for that. He just muttered, "You and Natasha are in league, I swear."

Sasha came back and offered him half a dozen pairs, which he obligingly tried on for her and Pepper. They let him look in the mirror and asked what he thought of them, before Sasha explained how the frames complimented certain parts of his face. 

The fifth pair were perfect. He could tell as soon as he slipped them on, partly from the the way they fitted his face like they were barely there, and partly from the expressions of serene joy on Pepper and Sasha's faces. The frames were light and comfortable, and they made his eyes look huge, heavy and serious. He looked like a completely different person to the one he was used to seeing.

Rogers was gonna shit a brick.

“You look amazing, Steve,” Pepper told him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “May I?”

When he nodded, she gently brushed his hair to one side, moving it into a slightly different style than the way he normally wore it; looser, more careless, opening up his face where the glasses obscured it. Steve glanced at her reflection.

“You think I should get a haircut?”

Pepper made a thoughtful sound and met his eyes in the mirror. “Do you want to?”

Steve looked at himself again. He was a pale, sullen shadow of himself, like a cake that hadn’t risen. He wondered whether everyone really saw a golden Adonis when they looked at Rogers, or if anyone saw what he did; a lonely, yearning meathead who still didn’t know what to do with the blessing he’d been given. Steve sighed. That was his life all over, wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” he said at last, taking off the frames and passing them back to the assistant. “Let’s get a haircut.”

 

 

Getting the haircut first might have been a bad plan, because Steve felt prickly and itchy as soon as they hit the shops, although he suspected that had as much to do with the shopping as with the hair on his neck. Pepper, bless her, noticed right away.

“We can do this another day if you’d like, Steve,” she said quietly, drawing him to one side. 

Steve shook his head. “No, Pepper, really. You were good enough to put aside the time for me.” He smiled crookedly at her. “And besides, I could really do with some clothes that actually fit. Maybe even something with a little color.”

Pepper gave him a charming smile and hooked her arm into his. “I think we can manage that.”

To his mild horror, Pepper took him straight to a personal shopper, who brought them both coffee and chattered away with Pepper while only consulting Steve every now and then. It was humiliating, and although Pepper tried to include him as much as possible, he still felt like a child with everything being decided over his head. Things improved at least once they’d drunk their coffee and the shopper disappeared to find him some clothes. 

“I really don’t mind just looking around myself,” Steve muttered to Pepper. 

“How strange,” Pepper teased, “you seem just like the sort that likes to be waited on hand and foot.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “The more time we spend together, the more I understand how you’re able to put up with Tony so well.”

Pepper’s eyes lit up. “The money helps, obviously.” She betrayed herself with a goofy smile. “He’s a good person, he really is, just in a lot of ways he’s still five years old.”

“Maybe six,” Steve conceded, and Pepper looked so grateful that he had to turn away. 

“Besides,” she said briskly. “This way we can talk properly.”

“Do we need to talk about something?”

“You tell me,” she said, picking up a fashion magazine and watching him over the top as she flicked through it. “Anything on your mind?”

He shrugged.

“I heard you haven’t used any of the workout facilities since the incident.” Steve shot her a look, and she had the grace to look a little guilty. “Not trying to spy on you, I promise. But speaking for myself, when I skip the gym for a week I feel like crap.”

Steve sighed and ran his fingertips along the grain of the fabric on the armchair. “Honestly, most of the reason I haven’t gone is that Rogers is always down there destroying something.”

To his surprise, Pepper dropped the magazine and reached out to touch his hand. “Don’t let yourself stay somewhere you’re not happy, Steve. You both need your own space.”

He smiled without humor. “I’m supposed to stay nearby.”

“There’s plenty of apartments within cab distance,” she said pointedly. “Plenty of gyms nearby too.” Pepper leaned away again before Steve could think of a response, and soon after that the personal shopper returned with an armful of clothes for him to try. 

Pepper made good on her threat to dress him up, but Steve found that he didn’t mind all that much. It was surprisingly fun—Pepper wasn’t afraid to tease him, presumably something she’d perfected around Tony—and after a little self-consciousness to begin with, he enjoyed fooling around and showing off for her. It recalled the glory days of the USO tour, tentatively making friends with the girls and letting them bully the shyness out of him. Even the ones he fooled around with had treated him like a kid brother, but it was a relief that way, not to have to think of something smart to say. He felt the same kind of ease around Natasha, and now Pepper too. 

Steve struggled his way into a pair of jeans so tight they might as well have been pasted on like wallpaper, and came up panting with effort when he was done.

“That sounds promising!” Pepper yelled from outside. 

“Not a chance in hell,” Steve said, laughing breathlessly as he stepped out to show her the monstrosity. “I look like a teenager.”

Pepper and the shopper both looked a little stunned. “ _Wow_ , Steve,” Pepper said, leaning around to look at his ass. “Those look—wow.”

The shopper nodded emphatically. “Your partner’s gonna _flip_ when they see you in these.”

Steve colored. “Oh, well, I’m not—that’s not—” Pepper raised an eyebrow at him and he laughed reluctantly. “You think?”

They both chorused agreement, but Steve shook his head. “I still think they’re a little _too _tight. Whoever’s doing the flipping is gonna have to cut me out of them.”__

__“Maybe the next size,” the shopper said, unwilling to be discouraged. Steve looked at Pepper and smiled helplessly._ _

__

__

__When they finally got back to the tower Steve snuck up to the guest room in his apartment to dump his things. Pepper had only let him buy things he was certain he liked, refraining from talking him into anything he wasn’t sure about, and he liked that. She seemed to understand without him saying so that he disliked extravagance for its own sake, or perhaps one of his numerous fights with Tony had somehow given it away._ _

__Steve had shyly thanked her when they were done, to which Pepper had just laughed and made him promise to take her out to dinner._ _

__“Or better yet,” she said, “you can cook for me. Sam never _stops_ talking about your cooking.”_ _

__He was, however, surprised by how grateful he felt for her time and patience. Only a handful of people in the world had ever made this Steve Rogers feel worth something and he was proud to add Pepper to that list._ _

__The guest room seemed more depressing than ever when he started to pull tags off his new clothes and fold them away into empty drawers. There was even less of him in this room than in his actual bedroom, but that made sense. The few belongings and pieces of furniture he’d bothered to salvage from the apartment in DC were mostly in storage, and he’d meant to look for his own place soon. He’d already have left if it hadn’t been for the incident._ _

__Steve was tired, but he realized that he was starving, so he pulled on a new pair of soft grey sweatpants and a t-shirt and headed down to the common area in search of food and company. He must have missed a memo, because there was a gathering when he walked in. A chorus of wolf whistles and ragged cheering greeted Steve and he felt his cheeks get hot immediately. Pepper grinned and gave him a thumbs up, Clint gave him a finger gun, and then Steve missed the rest because Thor descended and swept him up into a—literally— _crushing_ hug. _ _

__“My good friend! I am heartily pleased to see you looking well.”_ _

__“Easy,” Steve gasped, trying to breathe against the force of Thor’s shoulder digging into his windpipe. “It’s—good to see you too—I didn’t know you were back.”_ _

__Finally loosening his grip, Thor cupped Steve’s face in his hands and beamed at him. "You look more carefree than I have ever seen you."_ _

__Steve laughed and told himself that the warmth in his cheeks was because the attention was embarrassing, not because he was enjoying the weight of Thor's hands on him. Maybe it was something about being different: his hair, his glasses, the clothes, but Steve felt more receptive than usual. He’d never given a second thought to jumping in the sack with Thor. Partly because he was a teammate, partly because his affections were otherwise engaged, and mostly because the idea was crazy. But Thor’s strength, his ability to overpower Steve when they sparred, had always been kind of a turn-on._ _

__He was mercifully delivered from his awkward, amorous thoughts by Sam grabbing his arm and pulling him into another hug. “Looking slick, buddy,” he said, ruffling Steve’s hair. “You’re determined to make me look like an old man, aren’t you?”_ _

__“You mean I finally look like one of the kids?” Steve joked._ _

__Sam eyed him over. “I think you could definitely pass for ‘sexually aggressive fashion student’ now.”_ _

__“Hey!” Steve laughed, punching him in the shoulder. Sam looked surprised for a moment, as they both took in the fact that, normally, that should’ve hurt like a _bitch_. Coming from Steve now, he’d bet Sam had hardly felt it. _ _

__“So,” Sam said, watching him with a carefully contained smile. “You want a drink?”_ _

__Steve grinned. “You bet.”_ _

__It took him almost twenty minutes to realize that Rogers was there too. He was doing a circuit of the room with a beer in his hand, having escaped Tony's clutches and the threat of him making Steve a 'killer cocktail', when he spotted Rogers talking with Clint in a corner, looking grim._ _

__Steve decided to ignore him, and instead latched onto a conversation Sam and Thor were having._ _

__"And she is revered as a hero now?" Thor was saying._ _

__Sam shrugged. "Depends who you ask. Some people think Rosa Parks oughta be _canonized_ , some won't even know who she is."_ _

__They smiled at Steve in welcome. "I'm sure you have done your reading on this heroic woman, Steven," Thor said, moving closer to him._ _

__Steve felt himself start to blush. "Oh, yeah," he fumbled. "I'm sorry I missed the last century you know? I missed so many important things."_ _

__"Only you," Sam said with a snort. "Think you would've enjoyed Vietnam? The Cold War?"_ _

__"There's more to the last seventy years than war," Steve said lightly, letting Sam's teasing roll off his back. Trouble was, it hit him harder than he wanted to admit. He liked to think that there was no way he'd have let himself be dragged from one pointless conflict to another, but after what had happened with SHIELD, he had less faith in himself to separate the worthy causes from the rest. Not to mention the fact that if even Sam thought the only thing he was good for was fighting, maybe it was true._ _

__Natasha and Clint shouted for Sam and waved him over, and he excused himself with a shrug and some yelled obscenities at Clint and Nat._ _

__"So," Steve said awkwardly, once he'd left. "Um, how's Jane doing?"_ _

__"Very well," Thor said proudly. "I envy her greatly in many ways, being able to discover such knowledge for the first time amongst her people, it must be thrilling."_ _

__Steve smirked at him. "Sometimes I think we must look like a high school science project to you."_ _

__Thor chuckled. "I admit, it can be fascinating to watch Midgardians take steps that we took so long ago. But I believe it does not matter when you attain the knowledge, only that you strive for it."_ _

__"That sounds like a supernaturally healthy way of looking at things," Steve said, smiling. He'd surprised himself with how often he'd had a genuine smile for his friends today. It was a nice feeling._ _

__"Perhaps," Thor agreed, laughing. "One more thing you can strive toward."_ _

__Steve forced a self-deprecating sigh. "Like I don't have enough to strive for right now," he joked._ _

__Thor nodded in sympathy, then after a moment's hesitation, he reached out and rested a heavy hand on Steve's shoulder. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn. You must feel a great pressure to live up to who and what you were before."_ _

__"Oh, I—" Steve stammered, taken by surprise. "It's not like—"_ _

__He stopped when Thor held his other hand up, gently indicating him to shut up. "I don't wish to make you uncomfortable, but I hope you will heed the words of a friend and trust that you are more than enough as you are."_ _

__"Aw, jeez," Steve muttered, hanging his head to hide his blush. Thor's grip tightened on his shoulder, thumb digging into the hollow of his collarbone, which did nothing to dispel his self-consciousness. "Thanks, Thor, you really don't need to—"_ _

__"Physical prowess is not all," Thor went on quietly. "You are a good, intelligent, beautiful young man."_ _

__Steve finally chanced a look up, daring himself to look into Thor's warm gaze. "If I didn't know better," Steve said in a low voice, his gut churning, "I might think you were trying to talk me into bed."_ _

__Thor's brow crumpled slightly. "It would be an honor to share your bed, my friend."_ _

__"Jesus," Steve muttered, laughing at himself. "How did we get to this?"_ _

__"Perhaps this isn't the right place to discuss such things," Thor said with a grin._ _

__Steve smirked. "You think?"_ _

__Thor turned away a little, then he gestured to the balcony. "If you wish?"_ _

__"Wait, wait," Steve said, frowning. "Are we—we're talking hypothetically, right?"_ _

__Instead of replying, Thor just gave him a look filled with filthy promise, one eyebrow raised in invitation. Steve took a deep breath._ _

__"Here goes nothin'," he muttered to himself, grabbing himself a fresh beer on his way to the balcony._ _

__He walked around to where he wouldn't be seen by any of the guys inside. Thor hadn't followed him out right away, thankfully, so Steve just let himself enjoy the view. By the time Thor found him he'd almost finished his second beer, and was already starting to feel the effects._ _

__"Are you certain this is what you want?" Thor asked, no messing around._ _

__Steve raised one eyebrow. "Why, think you're too much for me?"_ _

__Thor smiled and took Steve's beer bottle out of his hand, setting it down on the edge of the balcony. "You do not need to goad me into this," he said gently, moving closer. "I'm eager to lie with you."_ _

__"I find that hard to believe," Steve said, looking down. “Maybe you think you wanna do me a favor—”_ _

__Thor kissed him, suddenly, his big hands moving to hold either side of Steve’s neck._ _

__“Oh,” Steve gasped when Thor’s mouth touched his, and he felt the brush of Thor’s beard against his upper lip._ _

__“Do you wish me to stop?” he murmured._ _

__Steve shook his head slightly. “Hell no.”_ _

__With a soft, approving sound, Thor kissed him properly. Steve’s heart pounded; it had been too, _too_ fucking long since he’d kissed anyone—anyone that wasn’t _himself_ , at least—and he felt raw at the energy pulsing through him. Thor’s hands were warm and firm, covering his neck and the back of his head. One of his thumbs stroked Steve’s jaw, urging him to part his mouth. _ _

__Steve pushed his tongue against Thor’s and had the strange realization that he was _necking with the ‘mythical’ god of thunder_ , but that was followed by the thought that Bucky would laugh himself sick if he knew, and Steve really didn’t want to think about Bucky right now. _ _

__Thor’s hands slid over his shoulders and down to his waist, and Steve slipped his arms up around Thor’s neck to pull him closer. It was a little awkward; Thor was even taller than he was—Rogers, that is—which only made Steve feel silly and self-conscious about his height, but he couldn’t deny that it was a thrill to feel Thor envelop him effortlessly._ _

__“The hell is this?”_ _

__They didn’t so much spring apart from one another as un-melt, or at least that’s the way it felt; Steve’s hands falling down to Thor’s biceps, while he released Steve’s mouth with a great deal of apparent reluctance._ _

__“Friend Rogers,” Thor said in a tone of complete ease when he glanced round. “Forgive me, I should have thought to extend the offer to you both.”_ _

__Rogers looked like he was about to have a fit. “Offer?” he squawked, looking at Steve with a mixture of confusion and annoyance._ _

__Thor pulled away from Steve, though he kept a hand on his hip, as if promising to return. “As I explained to Steven, you are both admirable, attractive warriors—”_ _

__“That—that’s okay, Thor,” Rogers stammered, blushing furiously. “But we—I need to have a chat. With Steve. Could you, uh, excuse us?”_ _

__“No,” Steve snapped, grabbing his beer bottle and stalking towards Rogers. “You stay and enjoy the party, Thor, we’ll go upstairs for this.”_ _

__Nobody took much notice of them as they made their way back through the common room and out to the elevator. Steve was doing his best to keep his poker face on. He drained the dregs of his beer and snatched another from a counter on his way past, and Rogers pulled ahead while he paused to crack the bottle cap off. Out in the hallway, Rogers made straight for the stairs, hesitating when he heard the chime of Steve calling the elevator._ _

__“Oh,” Rogers muttered, looking back. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”_ _

__Steve rolled his eyes. “Get there however you want, no need to wait for me.” He knocked back a third of the beer, wiping his mouth on his sleeve after and ignoring the look Rogers was giving him as they rode the elevator up in silence._ _

__“I know you’re angry with me,” Rogers said at last as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open quietly._ _

__Steve didn’t bother disguising the bitterness in his laugh. “Yeah? What gave it away, Sherlock?”_ _

__“I know because _I’d_ be angry,” Rogers said, frowning._ _

__“Right,” Steve said, following him into the kitchen, watching Rogers open the fridge for something to do. “You’re the model of calm right now.”_ _

__Rogers slammed the fridge shut. “Well how _should_ I feel about you throwing yourself at my friends in front of me?”_ _

__“ _Throwing_ myself,” Steve said, laughing. “Jesus Christ, listen to yourself.”_ _

__“Is it just because you’re mad at _me_?” Rogers said, stalking around the kitchen island. “And don’t try and pretend you’re not. I _know_ , remember? Whatever you’re thinking, I’ve probably already thought it.”_ _

__“Don’t bet on it,” Steve muttered darkly. He bit his lip as he turned away._ _

__“So let me have it,” Rogers said, shrugging. “C’mon, you can’t tell me anything worse than what I’ve thought to myself.”_ _

__Steve scowled. “I don’t wanna fucking fight you, Rogers.”_ _

__“Of course you do.”_ _

__“Fine, but I can’t, so what’s the point?”_ _

__The silence dragged on and on, far too long. Steve still didn’t know what to say. His open fist clenched tighter and tighter at his side, and he had to smother the urge to throw the bottle as hard as he could._ _

__"Listen," he said at last, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I'm gonna move out for a while, give you some space."_ _

__Rogers stared back at him. "What? Why?"_ _

__Steve took a deep breath and let it out again. "We'll kill each other, we stay cooped up here together."_ _

__"Alright, but you're not going anywhere. I'll go, you'll be much safer here."_ _

__Steve raised his eyebrows. "Safer?"_ _

__"Yes," Rogers said tightly. Steve recognized the look of him having something he didn't wanna say. "People might come after you, to get at Captain America, the serum, I don't know. You should stay here with JARVIS's security."_ _

__"You fucking asshole," Steve muttered, clenching his fists again. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and in case you’ve forgotten, I was in the army."_ _

__"It makes sense—"_ _

__"Like hell it does," Steve snapped. "Nobody even knows this has happened to us, you're the one at risk. Or you would be, except that nobody’s trying to get at you. Not to mention you're the superhero in the room, so wouldn't it make sense for you to be in the same place as all the other superheroes? You know, quicker response next time there's an emergency?"_ _

__Rogers frowned. "It won't make _that_ much difference. I can still get here in time if—"_ _

__Steve shook his head. "It makes enough, hotshot. You're staying here." He started to pace, walking out his frustration. “What the hell makes you think someone wants to get at me anyway?”_ _

__“Bruce and Tony—”_ _

__“Christ,” Steve huffed, throwing up his hands. “You _know_ there’s no use listening to those two when they start scheming like little old ladies. They get together and everyone in the room gets dumber, them included.”_ _

__Rogers just stared at him. “Well, hey,” he said at last. “Don’t hold back.”_ _

__“Get fucked,” Steve muttered, turning away. “I’m gonna get some rest.”_ _

__Rogers grabbed him from behind, whirling him around by his upper arm. "We're not done."_ _

__"We are," Steve growled._ _

__"What about Thor?"_ _

__Steve glared at Rogers. "What about him? You want details?"_ _

__Rogers scowled. "I just think we should talk about it if you're gonna start going around screwing people, especially people that I'm friends with."_ _

__"Thor offered," Steve said with a dismissive shrug. "I didn't do a thing."_ _

__"Besides stick your tongue down his throat."_ _

__"He started that."_ _

__"But—"_ _

__"Are you _jealous_ , pal?" Steve said loudly. "Because you sound pretty jealous, but from what I heard down there Thor isn't picky about which one of us he goes to bed with." He pulled his arm out of Rogers' grasp with a sneer. "You're welcome to him, if you want him."_ _

__Rogers flushed, combined embarrassment and indignation. "You know _exactly_ how I feel towards Thor. It's not— _appropriate_ with the things we have to do together, for the team—"_ _

__"Never stopped me wanting Bucky," Steve spat, finally putting words to the vague sense of longing he'd carried around for so long._ _

__"I never crossed a line with Bucky," Rogers said, looming over him. His voice was low and dangerous, leaving Steve torn between shivering with unexpected arousal and wanting to punch him in the face._ _

__Steve sniffed. "Right."_ _

__Rogers leaned closer and set his hand on Steve's shoulder. His fingers dug in, and it was just a little too close to the way Thor had touched him. Steve twisted, pulling away from him with a scowl. “What’re you doing?” he snapped. “Christ, you think I wanna go again? Once wasn’t enough of a freakshow?” He looked Rogers up and down, and then he snorted. “Ain’t like I’m gonna fall in love with you anyway. Narcissus we ain’t.”_ _

__“Right,” Rogers said angrily. “Because I've only ever had sex when I was in love.”_ _

__Steve looked away with a roll of his eyes. He was a little disgusted with himself at how desperate he was for it, but at the same time there was the nagging realization that the messages weren't reaching downstairs. Even when he and Thor had been kissing—and that had been _good_ —there had been nothing going on between his legs. _ _

__"Forget it," Rogers muttered. "If you don't wanna—"_ _

__He hesitated and Steve glanced back at him, drawn by morbid curiosity. Rogers' gaze flicked involuntarily to Steve’s crotch. “Uh, are you—can you not—”_ _

__“Shut up,” Steve said, scowling off at nothing._ _

__Rogers groaned loudly. “For shit’s sake. If you can talk to anyone about it, it’s me. I fucking lived it too.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Steve snarled. “Well I’m living it _now_. Wanna guess how fun it is going back to this? Back to hurting all the time, not being able to breathe, not being able to get it up—”_ _

__“Okay, okay,” Rogers said, making a pacifying gesture with his hands which made Steve see red. He opened his mouth, no idea what he even wanted to say except that he knew he had to say _something_. Before he got that far, Rogers grabbed him by his shoulders and kissed him. Steve tried to wrestle him away for a few moments, but the kiss was hot and vicious and he _needed_ it. Just as Rogers started to pull away, Steve bit his mouth and hauled him close with one fist in the front of his t-shirt. _ _

__“Fuck you,” Steve growled, pulling back just enough to break the kiss. He gave Rogers a shove and Rogers let himself be pushed, back and back until he bumped into the kitchen island. “I ain’t gonna screw around with you just ‘cause you’re too chicken to go out and find a guy to sleep with.” Despite his words, he snapped open Rogers’ belt and unzipped his jeans._ _

__“You don’t wanna screw around, get your hand out of my pants.”_ _

__“No,” Steve said, scowling up at him. He set his glasses on the counter before dropping to his knees, probably a little harder than he should’ve, then pulled Rogers’ dick out. Despite how twisted up he felt, he was gentle with it, aware that it would rile him up more than giving it to him rough._ _

__The sound of Rogers choking down a whimpering noise gave him a rush of smug satisfaction, and Steve leaned in to stretch his mouth around Rogers’ prick. Rogers, of course, had no fucking problem getting it up, but that was a-okay with Steve right now. He literally couldn’t have named the last time he had a cock in his mouth and he wasn’t about to complain. No doubt Natasha’s advice applied to this just as much as kissing: everybody needs practise. And who better to practise on than himself?_ _

__“Oh god,” Rogers moaned softly, resting his hand on the back of Steve’s head. “Are you—are you sure you—oh my god.”_ _

__Steve tried not to think about comparisons as Rogers filled him to the back of his throat; honestly, he’d never quite gotten used to having so much less trunk space. It was kind of freeing to go back to roomy underwear._ _

__Rogers must have showered as soon as he got back from his trip, because he tasted clean and only faintly musky. It made it easier for Steve to shut his eyes and pretend it was somebody else. He held on firmly to Rogers’ hips, letting them both sit with the illusion that he had any hope of controlling their pace, but for the moment at least, Rogers didn’t seem to be in a hurry. One hand gripped the counter behind him, while the other just rested against Steve’s head, his fingers threaded through Steve’s hair but not pulling. Steve sucked him slowly. He knew just where to touch and he took his time doing it, so that after five minutes or so Rogers was shuddering and gasping, yet nowhere near coming yet._ _

__Steve slipped off to catch his breath, feeling Rogers’ dick pulse between his fingers. A long strand of saliva quivered from the tip of Rogers’ cock to Steve’s mouth. Before he could wipe it away, self-conscious and embarrassed, Rogers moaned loudly and finally grabbed hold of Steve’s hair._ _

__“Yeah?” Steve murmured, looking up at him. “You like getting messy?”_ _

__“Fuck, shut up,” Rogers groaned, but he was trying not to laugh. Steve licked the end of his cock, then he drew around his mouth with it, almost like he was making a clumsy attempt at applying lipstick. Rogers bit his lip, and Steve could feel tension radiating from him._ _

__“You fuck my mouth without my say so and we’re done, got it?” Rogers nodded wordlessly. His fingers tightened in Steve’s hair and then released._ _

__Shifting on his knees to get more comfortable, Steve opened his mouth and wrapped his fingers around the base of Rogers’ dick. He bounced the tip on his tongue, making Rogers laugh again, before taking it in his mouth and sucking on it gently. Rogers sagged slightly and hitched his elbows up on the counter behind him to support himself. It gave Steve better access, so he wasn’t complaining, and—achingly slowly—he started to bob back and forth on Rogers’ dick._ _

__The word Rogers had used for them was uncanny, and he felt that more than ever with the taste of his own cock in his mouth, swallowing down the wetness in the back of his throat from Rogers dripping on his tongue. Rogers arched his back when Steve sucked on him hard, making his hips tilt forward, but he followed orders. He didn’t push. That was just as well, because Steve didn’t feel up to meting out punishment tonight. He wrapped his tongue around Rogers’ frenulum and sucked at him urgently while he worked the base of his dick with his hands, firm and steady._ _

__“I—I need to—”_ _

__Steve was determined to stay put, but Rogers didn’t let him. He reached down and hauled Steve off by his hair, wrapping his other hand over Steve’s. He started fucking into their fists faster, the veins in his forearm standing out stark with the effort of restraining himself still. Moments later he was coming, spattering the side of Steve’s face and neck._ _

__“Gee, thanks,” Steve muttered in a sarcastic voice, cautiously opening his eyes. Rogers tugged him to his feet, ignoring his grimace when his legs protested the sudden movement, and kissed him roughly, both hands slipping into his hair. Steve made a startled noise and Rogers softened the kiss almost immediately, tilting his head to make it easier for him. It felt a little awkward and unnecessary, but it was pleasant. Steve knew he’d behaved badly last time; it was bad form even to ditch on yourself, surely, and maybe Rogers was worried that he’d run off again._ _

__Rogers pulled back at last, wincing at his sticky palm. “Let’s clean you up,” he said gently._ _

__“I can do that myself, you know,” Steve said, pushing him back with a hand on his chest. “You don’t need to do all this. It’s just sex.”_ _

__“You don’t believe that.”_ _

__“Fine, maybe not with other people, but I’m you. You don’t need to fuss over me, alright? It’s weird.”_ _

__Rogers sighed and reached down to tuck his dick away and fasten his jeans. “If you say so. I’m gonna wash up.”_ _

__He started to walk away, but halted a few steps from Steve and looked back. “Thanks, for that. I really needed that. And I’ll return the favor, if—”_ _

__“Jesus, would you listen to yourself?” Steve teased, laughing at him. “Get the fuck out of here already.”_ _

__Rogers grinned. “Fuck you.”_ _


	6. Chapter 6

Steve rolled out of bed the next morning feeling sick and wretched, and he made it as far as the bathroom before he realized that he must be hungover. It had been so long since he’d even considered such a thing, and the surprise made him sit down hard on the can. His guts felt all knotted up from drinking, but that didn’t stop him from pulling his phone out of the pocket of his pajama pants and texting Sam.

**turns out i can get hangovers. you owe me at least five thousand beers**

**_this century is a bad influence on you_ **

**chicken**

**_bring it on white boy_ **

Steve flipped through the headlines on his phone while he was waiting for his bowel to get with the program. After a couple of articles he got another text, this time from Natasha.

**_I’m waiting._ **

Steve winced.

**I’m hungover.**

**_Sam told me. Brunch?_ **

**fine. i’ll bring rogers, think we called a truce**

**wait did sam text you**

**natasha**

Naturally, Rogers was already up and dressed when Steve finally emerged from his room. He looked more chipper than usual, which Steve couldn’t help but assign to the blowjob. It made him swell a little with pride. 

“How’re you doing?” he said, kicking a stool out for Steve. 

Steve hopped onto the stool and let his head fall onto his arms with a groan. “I’ve remembered why not drinking was a good thing.”

Rogers snickered. “Lucky you.”

“Ugh.” Steve sighed and picked himself up. “You full up?” he asked, glancing at Rogers’ empty cereal bowl. “I offered to meet Nat and Sam for brunch.”

“Sure,” Rogers said, looking surprised and pleased. “I could eat.”

Steve snorted. “Don’t I know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, uh—I’m sorry, for cutting in last night.”

“No,” Steve said, sighing. “You were right, I shouldn’t have taken Thor up on his offer without asking you first.”

Rogers shrugged. “It’s your body. They’re your friends too. I overreacted.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Jesus Christ, we’re either not sorry or we’re too sorry. Let’s just strike Thor off the record and chalk it up to me being drunk for the first time in a long time.”

“Deal,” Rogers said, grinning. “How was that, by the way?”

“Pretty great, at the time. Less so now.”

“Mm.” Rogers looked like he wanted to say something more, so Steve glared at him until he spoke up. “Okay, look, I mean it when I say you should be allowed to do what you want— _who_ you want. And—well, if you wanna sleep with Thor, it’s not my place to stop you.” He grinned ruefully. “One of us oughta get some.”

Steve grinned. “Pretty sure he’d rather have you, stupid. But you guys can work out your own arrangement.” He looked away, willing himself not to blush. “I, uh. Think you and I have seen enough of each other lately.”

“If you say so,” Rogers muttered, shrugging. “Hey, so are Sam and Nat—you know?”

Steve shrugged. “Buddy you know as much as I do, and there’s no _way_ I’m gonna ask.”

“Fair.”

 

 

Sam took pity on him this time and picked somewhere different for brunch. Rogers drew a couple of stares, but otherwise nobody really took any notice of them. 

“Okay,” Natasha said, and both Steve and Rogers immediately winced. At least she’d waited until they got their coffee. “What’s the deal?”

“There’s no deal,” Rogers said, at the same time as Steve said “It’s personal.”

Sam and Nat exchanged a look, which looked suspiciously like it said _Bingo_ , and Steve groaned. 

“Christ, we kissed is all.”

Rogers stared at him. “What the hell?”

“Trouble in paradise?” Natasha teased.

Sam groaned. “Fuck this, I’m changing my order to waffles.”

“Steve and I kissed,” Rogers told them, just as Steve said, “I made out with Thor.”

He and Rogers both looked at one another in dawning horror, though there was a small comfort in the fact that even Natasha looked momentarily stunned. 

“Wow,” she said, picking up her coffee cup. “You boys have been busy.”

Rogers slumped in his seat. “Shit. We really need to get our story straight.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You think?” He sighed. “So on an entirely unrelated note, believe it or not, I’m looking for an apartment”

Natasha and Sam both looked surprised, and Rogers cut an angry look down at the tabletop. 

"Is that safe?" Sam asked.

Steve shrugged and gestured to the cafe. "Is this?"

"I think it'll do you some good," Natasha said, glancing from one to the other of them. "Both of you."

Sam nodded. "Well sure, you've been at each other's throats, but does mean you're drawing a line under the whole thing?"

Rogers looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the haircut, the college kid clothes, now a new place? You gonna stay this way forever?" Sam asked, watching Steve closely. 

Steve's hand shook, and he quickly lowered his coffee cup, setting it down with a rattle. "That—that's not—"

"It's like you said," Rogers cut in. "We'll kill each other without some space. Or we'll end up kissing again."

Steve gave a pained laugh, grateful when the three of them went on chatting and joking without him. Their food arrived shortly after so he devoted himself to his eggs to avoid having to make conversation. He managed to pick up on the thread eventually and offer a few remarks to keep Nat and Sam from thinking he was ignoring them entirely, but he knew they could all see that he'd pretty much checked out. 

Sam drew him aside as they were leaving. "Steve—"

"It's okay, Sam," Steve said before he could offer any apologies. 

Sam shook his head. "Just listen. I was a real asshole, I'm sorry. Just having a bad day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Steve smirked and nudged Sam's arm with his shoulder. "Sam Wilson has bad days?"

"Come on, man," Sam said, grinning. "I mean it though, it's something to think about. Even if they do find a way to put you back, is that what you want?"

Steve shrugged. "I dunno, kinda useful having two of us. I gotta practise my moves on someone. Can't be the seventh most eligible bachelor in the U.S. and also the world's worst flirt."

Sam slung an arm around his neck. "Uh huh. You're too sassy for your own good, Rogers."

Steve grinned. "Get yourself some real insults, Wilson."

“You wanna see insults, you oughta start jogging with me again. About the only way I can teach you some humility.”

Steve snorted. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah, Steve, do.”

 

 

Rogers must have offered himself up for whatever needed doing, because two days later he knocked on Steve’s bedroom door gently, explaining in a furtive tone that he had to go again and couldn’t say where.

“Fine, whatever,” Steve said, throwing himself onto the bed. “Just promise—”

“It’s not about him.”

Steve shrugged. “Then take care of yourself, asshole. I’ll see you when you get back.”

Rogers folded his arms. “Will you? You’re not gonna take off?”

“Jesus, even if I go I’m not going further than Queens. Relax, would you?”

“Fine, fine,” Rogers muttered, turning away. “Go see the therapist.”

“You go see her!” Steve yelled after him as he pulled the door shut. 

For a moment after Rogers had gone, Steve lay back and closed his eyes, and tried to picture this being his life. Sitting around like a piece of furniture while everyone he knew went out and did something important, something useful. _But you’re still out there,_ he told himself. Steve sighed heavily and picked up his tablet. He’d been scrolling through property websites, but he couldn’t seem to find anything he liked that wasn’t extravagantly overpriced, and although they had savings, he wasn’t sure it was right for him to touch it. Which of them did it rightfully belong to now, anyway?

He must have dozed off, because he was woken a few hours later with his glasses digging painfully into his face and his phone ringing loudly on the nightstand. Steve swore under his breath and grabbed it, answering on the last ring.

“H’lo?”

“Steve, I hope it’s not too late to call.”

Steve rubbed his hand over his face. “Pepper, hi. Of course not, it’s always great to speak to you.”

“So, um, _Rogers_ mentioned that you’re looking for a place in Brooklyn?”

“Uh, maybe, yeah,” Steve said, pushing himself to a sitting position with a grunt of effort. “I mean, I’m looking for a place, haven’t decided where yet.”

Pepper made a thoughtful sound. “You’ll be staying in New York though?”

“Yeah, for now.” She was quiet for a moment, but Steve heard tapping in the background, then she said, “Do you have time tomorrow? I have a realtor friend, he can meet us at eleven thirty.”

Steve bit his lip. “Pepper—”

“Steven.”

He sighed, knowing he’d already lost. “I’m all yours. See you then.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

 

 

Five days later, before Rogers had even come back from who knew where, Steve moved into a new apartment in DUMBO. It wasn’t too far from the High Street stop, and there was an elevator in the building that, the landlord had assured Pepper, was always kept in working order. Steve had tried to explain that he’d survived living in a fifth floor firetrap in the thirties, but Pepper just silenced him with a look while the realtor argued the landlord into offering a short term lease at a reduced rate, on the promise that after three months of renting Steve would either move out or buy the place. 

Sam and Thor helped him move in, although since there wasn't much to move, they mostly decorated and assembled furniture while Steve went to hunt out the nearest bodega. 

"Ta-da!" Sam yelled when he got back, gesturing to the brand new bed. "Check it out! Thor and I are giving up the superhero gig to become carpenters, right buddy?"

"It is a worthy profession," Thor said, giving Steve a look which said they had been discussing this for some time already. 

Grinning, Steve followed Sam's eager gesturing and clambered onto the bed. "Fuck," he said, laughing as he scrambled to his knees. "I knew I shouldn't have let Pepper take charge of any of the furnishing. This thing's way too big for me."

"Perhaps it was ordered with company in mind," Thor said casually. Any other time it would've been a joke or a throwaway remark, but the other night was still fresh enough in Steve's mind that he instantly jerked upright and felt his face get hot. 

"Well, I'm gonna get us some coffee," Sam said, the fucking hero of the hour as ever. "Don't you dare jump on that bed, Rogers!"

As soon as he was gone, Thor gave Steve a sheepish look and gestured to the bed. "May I?" Steve nodded, and Thor sat beside him. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

Steve gave an awkward little laugh and shrugged one shoulder. "It's okay. I think I had that coming."

Thor smiled at him, and Steve was struck by how lucky he was. Thor was kind and ridiculously generous, and even though Steve had messed things up, Thor was still here, building his furniture and flirting harmlessly with him. 

"About the other night," Steve began awkwardly. “I haven’t been drunk in a _long_ time.”

“You were inebriated,” Thor said, nodding. “I understand. I am not offended.”

Steve frowned. “No no, I’m not trying to make excuses, pal—” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit, I’m still no good at this. I just wondered if you wanted to get a drink. We never really spend time together, unless we’re punching each other or something else. Maybe we oughta catch up?”

Thor beamed at him. “I would be honored.”

“Okay then,” Steve said, smiling shyly. “Uh, but I promise I won’t get drunk.” His eyes widened. “I mean—not that I don’t wanna—just if anything _did_ happen I think I should be sober this time? Christ, Rogers, shut up already.”

“I will see to it that you do not overindulge yourself, my friend.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, thanks, I think.” He took a deep breath before pushing himself up from the bed. “Okay, I’m gonna make the bed up before Sam really gets the wrong idea.”

He turned away to grab the sheets, but Thor laid a hand on his shoulder and Steve almost _shivered_ when Thor leaned in and kissed him on the temple. 

 

 

Going back to the Tower felt unaccountably strange; his apartment wasn't really his, he had no Avengers business, and Tony had invited him for coffee. He knew, obviously, that Tony drank a lot of coffee. Sometimes they'd even drunk it in the room, but he was pretty sure they'd never had coffee _together_. 

"Hey, mini Cap!" Tony said, almost the moment Steve stepped into the foyer. "Good to see you, Rogers, you're looking uncomfortably, uh—hip?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Uh huh. Can we skip to the part where you embarrass my tastebuds with your special super powered coffee beans?"

"Sure, sure.”

Tony was more fidgety than usual, but Steve put it down to the awkwardness of being around him and tried not to think about it. He led Steve to one of the private elevators.

“Pepper’s upstairs, she’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

Steve smiled. “Yeah, I gotta thank her for her help in finding the apartment.”

“How is the new place?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. Settling in.”

Tony nodded. “Still waiting on my invite for the housewarming.”

Steve rolled his eyes affectionately. “Yeah, you and everyone else.” He punched Tony in the shoulder. “Don’t worry, when it happens you’ll be the first to know, and you can come and act like a creepy uncle for all my new hipster friends.”

“Don’t joke about that, Rogers,” Tony said sternly. “If you replace us with a bunch of bisexual Art History graduates who only drink craft beer and eat raw meat, I _will_ put all your secrets on the internet.”

“Natasha already put all my secrets on the internet,” Steve said with a dismissive snort. 

Tony swore under his breath. “Curse that woman, she foils all my evil plans.” 

Pepper was waiting for them when they stepped into the common area. She was talking in a low voice with Rogers, but she looked up when Steve came in and smiled at him. 

Rogers looked at him and frowned. “Hey. What’s this about?”

“First, coffee,” said Tony, going to the machine. 

Steve felt certainty settle in his gut. “You can’t put it back, can you?”

Tony and Pepper both froze awkwardly, and Rogers looked blank. 

“Steve—” Pepper began, but Tony cut her off.

“No, we can’t.”

Steve nodded awkwardly and sank into a chair. “Right. Well, you’re not a magician.”

Tony set a strong, syrupy espresso in front of him without a word. Steve picked it up and downed it. The bitterness helped, but he desperately wanted a real drink.

“I could go into all the fun details if you wanted,” Tony said quietly, sitting down opposite him. Steve was dimly aware of Rogers lingering nearby. “Explain how, even if we knew how to do it _physically_ , even if we could somehow use—uh, _magic_ —the fact that you two have been living on a forked neural path for weeks now would probably make you go insane. Your experiences don’t match anymore. Your wants, needs, desires—”

“Are different,” Rogers said sharply. “We get it.”

Pepper put her hand on Steve’s shoulder and he took a deep breath. “Hey, well, thanks for trying,” he said in a weak voice. 

“I’ve gotta—” Rogers said, trailing off as he walked away. They all watched him go. 

Tony looked surprised. “What’s his deal? He’s the one who gets to stay the same.”

“Tony!” Pepper hissed. 

“No, it’s fine,” Steve said with a shrug. “It’s true. That’s why he’s upset.”

Pepper frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Steve turned the little espresso cup with his fingers. “I’m different now. I can do—something different, with my life. He thinks he’s stuck as Captain America forever.”


	7. Chapter 7

Hanging out with Thor in itself was pretty uneventful. They went to see a movie on Darcy’s recommendation, then stopped off for a beer—just the one—and chatted about art. It turned out that Thor had been slowly making his way through the city’s museums and galleries.

“If you don’t mind company, I’d love to tag along,” Steve said, passing his beer bottle from one hand to the other. “It’s not like I have much else taking up my time right now anyway. Might slow you down though.”

Thor waved Steve’s words away. “It is a fine plan, we shall go together.”

“Yeah? Where do you have still to go?”

Frowning, Thor reached into his pocket. For a moment, Steve wondered if he had a twenty first century notebook too, then he laughed when Thor pulled out his phone and pulled up a to-do list. “I have yet to tour the Museum of Natural History.”

Steve grinned. “Oh, man. Let’s set aside a couple of days for that one, there’s a hell of a lot to see.” 

“Sam has recommended the extra exhibits. He was most insistent that I see the butterfly house.”

“That sounds great,” Steve said, laughing. He picked up his beer and drank the last few mouthfuls, mostly to stop himself from fidgeting with the bottle any longer. “Do you wanna get out of here? It’s starting to get crowded, pretty soon you’ll need a megaphone for me to hear you.”

Thor nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll walk you home.”

 _You don’t need to_ was on the tip of Steve’s tongue, but he remembered just in time that Thor coming home with him had kind of been the plan. At least, he’d been planning to _ask_. They got on the subway and stood together in one of the carriages. It wasn’t busy, but Thor stood close enough for Steve to fill his lungs with the scent of him while they talked quietly about other places they might visit together in the city. 

“I will not be here for much longer,” Thor said as they got off at Steve’s stop and Steve braced himself for the stairs. “On this visit, at least.”

“That’s a shame,” Steve said, a little breathless, though all the more determined to ask Thor up to his place tonight. “We’ll have to shake a leg on those museum visits.”

It was only a couple of blocks from there to Steve’s building, but Thor kept on following him right to the front door. Steve’s heart was in his throat as he turned to face Thor, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “This was really fun,” he said, shuffling a little. “Thanks for walking me back, I feel like I’m in high school.”

Thor grinned. “If I had any notion of how that felt, I might also.”

Steve let out a rush of laughter then bit it back, summoning his courage. “So, uh. You wanna come up for coffee?”

Thor looked thoughtful. “Forgive me if I have remembered wrongly, but if you mean to proposition me, my offer is still open.”

Although he knew it probably shouldn’t have, the words still took Steve by surprise, and he burst out laughing. “Oh, man,” he said, covering his face with his hands for a moment. “Okay, yeah, I want you to plough me like a field. Does that cut it?”

Thor made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle, but much more manly of course. “Your imagery is most illuminating.”

Steve grinned. “I bet. But, uh. Maybe we should just start where we left off, yeah?”

“Agreed.”

Steve opened the door, and pressed the call button for the elevator. He still hated to use them instead of the stairs, but it was somehow more humiliating in front of Rogers than anyone else, and if what he hoped was going to happen was going to happen, he didn’t want to be wasting his energy on climbing stairs right now. 

As soon as the elevator doors hissed shut behind them, Steve felt the weight of the atmosphere around them. He took a deep breath. "Thor—" he said, and didn't get any further because Thor leaned over and kissed him.

It was quiet and delicate—the way Steve would never have expected a kiss to be with Thor. He was obviously holding back, waiting to see how Steve would react to this. It only lasted a few seconds and then Thor pulled away again. "I've no wish to force you—"

Action seemed preferable to discussing it all over again, so Steve wrapped his arms around Thor's neck and kissed him again. He made a low, rumbling noise of encouragement in his chest as he reached for Steve, which was all the urging Steve needed to press himself against Thor from chest to toe. 

Thor laughed softly against his mouth. "Well, I'd _hoped_ you were still interested—"

"I'm interested," Steve growled, biting Thor's bottom lip. His hands settled on Steve's back, while Steve buried his own fingers in Thor's thick hair and angled the kiss to suit the crick in his neck. 

Taking no notice of the fact that they were still technically in public, Thor reached between them to unzip Steve’s hoodie and shoved it off his shoulders. He stroked the tops of Steve’s arms, fingers brushing lightly over the delicate skin in the space between his t-shirt sleeve and hoodie. Steve sighed and Thor pushed the hoodie all the way off; Steve let it fall to the floor of the elevator and gasped when Thor reached to unbutton his jeans with one hand while the other slid up Steve’s back, under his t-shirt. The elevator bumped to a stop, nudging Steve against Thor, and they both laughed softly.

“There better not be any of my neighbors on the other side of that door,” Steve muttered, his voice going muffled towards the end when Thor tugged his t-shirt up and tossed it to one side.

He glanced sideways as the doors slid open. Safe. Steve leaned over and poked his head out but, miraculously, there was nobody in sight. As he leaned back in to grab his hoodie, Thor grabbed him around the middle and hauled him into his arms.

“Oh my god,” Steve yelped, laughing. “Thor, my shit’s still in the elevator!”

“Later,” Thor murmured, shifting Steve in his arms and kissing the side of his neck. Steve went boneless for a split second, before remembering himself and wrapping his arms and legs tight around Thor. At least he still had his jeans, which meant he still had his keys, and therefore they’d still be able to get to a horizontal surface ASAP.

When they reached the far end of the hall, which was slower progress than usual considering that Thor spent the whole walk covering Steve’s neck and throat in bearn burn and bite marks, or pausing to press him against the wall and kiss him while he kneaded Steve’s ass and thighs with his strong fingers. 

“I hope—I’m not too eager?” Thor murmured between drawn out kisses up against Steve’s front door.

Steve let out a breathless laugh and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Are you serious?” he said, grinning. “ _Don’t_ stop.”

“Open the door,” Thor said in a low voice that made Steve’s gut churn pleasantly. He’d never heard Thor sound so loose and wrecked, and he couldn’t help a shudder. 

“Key’s in my back pocket, left side.”

Thor reached into his pocket, which was creeping down to Steve’s thigh now with his jeans undone. He should have cared more that he was half naked in the hallway of his brand new building, which no doubt had security cameras in the elevator if not the hallway too, but he couldn’t give less of a shit right now. Eventually Thor got his fingers on the key and he hefted Steve’s weight effortlessly on his left arm so that he could unlock the door. Steve found that, for once, he didn’t care. Thor could’ve lifted a truck if he wanted; there was no use Steve getting sore because Thor could lift _him_ when he might as well be picking up a sack of apples. 

The door finally creaked open—Steve had to remember to pick up some WD-40—and Thor walked them inside, kicking it shut behind them. 

Steve pushed his fingers into Thor’s hair again and tugged his head back to kiss him, slow and eager, humming happily when Thor’s tongue pushed into his mouth. They stood in the hallway for a few moments necking like teenagers, Thor’s hands big and hot on Steve’s back. 

“I gotta—I gotta use the bathroom,” Steve murmured, pulling back at last. “I’ll just be a minute?”

Steve didn’t bother locking the door, just shimmied the rest of the way out of his jeans and grabbed the supplies from the bathroom cabinet. Maybe after this he’d remember to keep them in the bedroom. He’d somehow managed to take a dump while they were at the bar which was perfect timing, so he spent a minute or two cleaning up just to be sure—not that he was _expecting_ to get fucked, but better to be prepared—before hoisting his jeans back up unfastened and walking out. 

Thor had fetched himself a glass of water, but otherwise he was more or less where Steve had left him, leaning against the breakfast bar. Steve wrapped his arms across his chest unconsciously, only realizing he’d done it when Thor took a few steps towards him and gently took hold of his wrists, unfolding his arms again. He reached up to loop them around his neck, and Steve crossed his hands behind Thor’s head with a smile. 

“Would you be more comfortable on the bed?” Thor asked, reaching down to Steve’s hips and pushing his jeans back down. “Or perhaps the couch?”

Steve shook his head. “Fine here.”

With a curt nod, Thor hitched him up onto the breakfast bar and yanked off his shoes and then his jeans. It wasn’t slow or seductive, just full of the raw promise of getting _wrecked_ , and Steve’s heart started to race. 

“May I put my mouth on you?” Thor asked, stepping in between his thighs, so close that all Steve could see was his piercing eyes. Even sitting on the worktop, he still had to look up slightly to meet Thor’s gaze, and he felt nervous, suddenly, in a way that he couldn’t define. He nodded, lost for words, and watched as Thor slowly stripped him of his underwear and bent to lap at Steve’s cock with the flat of his tongue. 

“Fuck,” Steve gasped, dropping back to his elbows. The counter was cold under his ass, but he didn’t really notice after the first shock of it. Thor was proving a fairly effective distraction. He grabbed Steve’s hips to pull him closer to the edge of the counter and sucked Steve into his mouth: cock and balls both. Steve shuddered and let out an embarrassing high-pitched noise that he quickly stifled by covering his face with the crook of his elbow. “God, Thor,” he sighed. 

Thor pulled off and grabbed the backs of Steve’s knees, rolling his thighs up against his chest so that he could spread him open. Steve folded into himself with a whimper, watching in a mess of stunned, stupid arousal as Thor’s messy head ducked down and his tongue swiped roughly over Steve’s hole. His breath left him in a rush, and he half expected Thor to stop, for it to be a tease, but he didn’t. Still bracing his hands on Steve’s skinny thighs, Thor nuzzled in closer and started lapping over his hole, licking little circles and stroking his tongue over it, his beard rubbing warmly against Steve’s thighs and his ass. 

“Oh shit, oh shit—” Steve panted, reaching down to wrap his fingers around his dick. He jerked himself off loosely a couple of times before squeezing tightly at the base. He wasn’t usually this quick to go off, but he’d been feeling tense and pent up ever since the night he and Thor kissed the first time, maybe even before that, and apparently it had put him on a hair trigger. 

Thor stepped back a little, replacing his thumb with the pad of his thumb and stroking gently. “Don’t worry about finishing quickly,” he said, obviously having noticed Steve’s attempt at self-restraint. “I will ensure that you’re satisfied more than once.”

Steve’s laughter stuttered in surprise. “O—oh—that’s quite a promise.”

“How many times do you _wish_ to come?”

Any part of him that hadn’t already flushed bright red did so then. “I—I dunno,” Steve said sheepishly. “Maybe we could just start with one and see how it goes?”

Thor laughed and shook his head, holding up the hand that wasn’t exploring between Steve’s thighs. He folded down his thumb and pinky finger, and Steve’s eyes widened momentarily.

“Yeah, okay, pal,” he said, laughing self-consciously. “Maybe before this shit happened, but if you want that kind of stamina you’ve got the wrong Rogers.”

“We’ll see,” Thor promised, pressing his mouth to Steve’s stomach in an open kiss before moving back down to get friendly with his ass. His tongue was hot and steady; Steve had only the guts to let someone do this to him once since he'd come out of the ice, mainly for fear of it going public that Captain America liked a tongue up his ass, and he was grateful to Thor for taking it slow. 

Not that the speed made it any less punishing. After a few minutes Steve was _desperate_ for more, but all Thor had done was lick and kiss and suck at his hole and around it, never light enough to tease, but Steve was getting to the point where he just wanted something _in him_ or not at all. 

"Thor," he gasped, pushing himself up on his elbows again. "Fuck, would you—I need—"

Thor laughed at him softly, and Steve realizes he must look ridiculous, naked and spread out on his own breakfast bar, bright red and demanding to get fucked with a scowl on his face. He let his expression ease and smiled at himself.

"I mean it, buddy, I'm dying up here."

"Your constitution is much hardier than that," Thor teased, biting at his inner thigh, and then more gently at the skin just behind his balls. 

Steve whimpered, stretching the sound into a throaty gasp when Thor rubbed over his hole with one fingertip, gently massaging over the slick mess until the tip pushed in, Steve's muscles drawing him in to the first knuckle. 

"Oh yeah," Steve breathed, forcing himself not to get tense. It felt strange and intrusive but in a minute, he knew, it would just feel _good_.

By the time Steve realized that he'd left the lube in the bathroom after all, Thor had already requisitioned the extra virgin cold pressed olive oil that Sam had bought from Whole Foods, and was drizzling it over his dick, his balls, and into his crack. Sam was a little obsessed with taking Steve’s credit card to Whole Foods. Steve winced and shuffled slightly to try and get comfortable, though all he did was emphasize the squelchy sensation between his legs. 

Thor leaned over him, sliding a hand under his shoulders to tilt him forwards for a kiss. Steve came into it eagerly, wrapping one arm tight around Thor’s neck for a messy, filthy kiss while Thor’s other hand stroked his cock slowly. Scooting back slightly, Steve was able to jam one heel against the edge of the counter and tilt his hips up, pushing into Thor’s gentle grip. Thor jerked him off achingly slowly for a couple of minutes while they made out, tongues pushing against each other’s in lazy strokes. 

Steve had never really spent a lot of time kissing a guy with facial hair, and he was pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed it. Any guys he’d gone with back in the thirties and forties hadn’t tended to keep a beard, and there hadn’t been a lot of making out either. He'd had a boyfriend for a while in 1940, not that either of them would've thought to call it that, but the guy had ended it after he was drafted so that he could find himself a girl to marry before shipping out. It had taken Steve a long time to forgive that, but Bucky had understood. 

"It's not about you, Stevie," he'd muttered, ruffling Steve's hair and handing him a beer. "Hell, it's not even about him. It's about his folks, and his daddy's shop, and leaving something behind for them in case he doesn't make it home."

Steve shook his head to clear the unwelcome memories. Thor was watching him carefully, his eyes shadowed by the hair hanging loose around his face. 

"Steven?" he asked gently. 

It wasn't hard to smile with Thor's kind, beautiful face hovering just above his own, crumpled with concern. Besides, Steve's memories weren't as vivid since the incident, and it was nice to find the blessing side of that curse. 

"I'm fine," he said, wrapping one of his legs around Thor's waist. "Although I'm feeling a little empty."

In answer, Thor ran his fingers down the inside of Steve's thigh and nudged at his hole with one broad fingertip. "Allow me to aid you with that."

Steve grinned at him. "Don't wait around. I'm getting smaller, not younger." 

Thor laid Steve back against the worktop and curled slick fingers around his dick to distract him while he pushed inside. It took Steve’s breath away, but Thor didn’t stop, just pressed in with slow determination until he could curl his finger around to graze Steve’s prostate.

“Oh—oh jesus yeah—” Steve babbled as heat rippled through him. He knotted fingers in his own hair and pushed his hips up again with his foot braced against the edge of the counter, fucking into Thor’s slippery fist. “Please, ah—more, please.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Thor asked quietly, lowering his mouth to Steve’s chest and tonguing at his left nipple. “Mm, I am generously endowed, I have no wish to hurt—”

“Thor,” Steve interrupted, sitting up and grabbing his hair. “Give me another one, now.”

With a growl, Thor slipped his finger out and slowly started to press in again with two. It was a little too much, but Steve had known it would be, so he just gritted his teeth and pushed back against the intrusion. Thor moved his fingers once he was all the way inside, not quite pulling them out but rocking and twisting as Steve slowly accommodated to the stretch, and stroking over his prostate with every other shift. It made him buzz with something not quite pleasure or pain, and he shivered when Thor kissed the side of his jaw.

“You have nothing to prove to me.”

Steve smirked, though it came off a little dreamy and vague. “Your hands feel really good.”

Thor shook his head, laughing softly. “I have done this many more times than you, I suspect.”

Steve grinned. “Yeah, well, you’re _really_ old.”

“Correct,” Thor said, his eyes bright as he swiped more insistently over Steve’s prostate with his fingertips. 

Steve moaned brokenly, his head falling back to knock against the counter while a shiver ran through him, knocking out any resistance he had left in his body, as if the power had gone out.

"Don't underestimate how much I got laid during the forties," Steve said, aware that he already sounded fucked out and stupid. “A lot of people wanted a piece of this dancing girl.”

Thor grinned. "I would be delighted to hear of your conquests in bed as well as in battle."

“I—ah—don’t usually—kiss and tell,” Steve said in a shaky voice, his fingers clenching involuntarily at the delicious sensation rolling through him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this free and helpless during sex. There wasn’t the same pressure of needing to please someone he was romantically interested in, but it was still intimate because of their friendship. 

“Perhaps you think you’re not a good enough storyteller,” Thor mused, wrapping his finger and thumb around the head of Steve’s cock and rubbing it gently, _too_ gently. “That words cannot encompass the kind of debauchery you’re thinking about.”

Steve didn’t think he could get any redder, but he _felt_ himself blushing. “I dunno about debauchery—”

“Or perhaps you’re shy of being admired for your performance,” Thor murmured. “Perhaps your modesty does not let you appreciate the sight of yourself in your dancing girl costume—”

“Fuck you,” Steve breathed out, chuckling. 

Thor backed off momentarily and hitched Steve’s dangling leg up onto his shoulder. When he started to move his fingers again, the new angle made each movement spike through him, and Steve groped at the edges of the counter, choking on his pleasure. "You're—gonna make me embarrass myself," he said in a throaty voice. Thor was barely touching his dick, just stroking it with the back of his finger while he urged Steve's pleasure on with his other hand. 

"Why should you be embarrassed?" Thor murmured into the flushed skin of his throat, turning to nip him with his teeth. "I can think of nothing more beautiful at this moment than to witness you come."

"God," Steve gasped, laughing a little. "You—you're unreal—fuck—"

Thor laughed and dug his teeth into the side of Steve’s neck harder, laughter humming through his skin.

“Okay, okay,” Steve gasped, grabbing onto Thor’s t-shirt—fuck, Thor was still fully dressed—as his muscles started tensing. “I’m—I’m—”

Thor kept massaging him gently from inside as he shook and came, breathing heavily into the crook of his arm. His heel skidded off the edge of the worktop as his leg tensed and spasmed. 

“Thor,” Steve gasped after a few moments, when his dick was slipping wetly through Thor’s loose grasp and he was starting to feel like he was burning up from the inside out. He slumped back onto the counter, panting harshly. “Enough, enough, I’m done, please—”

He sighed happily as Thor released him, sucking in a deep breath and smiling when he felt it right to the bottom of his lungs. "Wow." He took another deep breath and found that he couldn't stop grinning. "Jesus Christ, that was—wow."

"Your gratitude is unnecessary but most flattering," Thor said, leaning over him. 

Steve pushed himself up with a grunt of effort and tugged Thor down by the front of his shirt to kiss him lazily. "You're still gonna fuck me though, right?" 

“Perhaps here is not the place.”

“Yeah,” Steve muttered grudgingly. “I guess not.” 

With a disgruntled noise, Steve peeled himself off the worktop and sat up to stretch his arms and legs with a wince. It took a graceless, awkward shuffle on his butt, but he managed to jump down off the counter and stand more or less steadily. 

“I guess you already know where the bedroom is,” he said with a lopsided smile. 

Thor nodded. “Shall I—” He made a motion as if he was gonna pick Steve up again, but Steve laughed self-consciously and shook his head.

“Nah, that’s okay. I think I can walk.”

However, just as Thor started to turn away, Steve grabbed him by his belt loops and snuck in behind him. Thor hesitated and Steve reached around him to unfasten his pants. He was a little nervous about this next part; he’d had his fair share of Thor’s erection accidentally grinding up on him when they sparred, enough to give him a good idea of what he was letting himself in for. He tugged on Thor’s shirt, gesturing for him to turn around, and Thor did so, his arms still hanging at his sides. 

“Steven,” he said with a look of wry amusement, though there was lust in his gaze too as he looked down at Steve. 

“Thor,” Steve said, smirking up at him with one eyebrow cocked. He put his palms on Thor’s hips and slid them up, over his abs and chest. Thor raised his arms and tugged off his shirt—Steve wouldn’t _quite_ have been able to reach—and Steve bit his lip. Okay, so he’d fucked _himself_ but it was hard to appreciate Rogers for his body, not when all Steve could think about was how it felt to be _in_ that body, and not in a sexy way. Thor, however, he could appreciate intimately. 

“Christ,” Steve moaned, reaching up to touch his jaw, feeling the stubble on his neck. He could already feel the heat on the backs and insides of his thighs where Thor’s beard had rubbed him raw and it felt incredible. Thor put his hands on Steve’s hips, his hands practically meeting around Steve’s waist, and tugged him closer so that they were pressed together. His dick pressed into Steve’s abdomen, just above his left hip, solid and urgent. Looking up into Thor’s eyes, Steve tugged Thor’s pants down, then his underwear too, letting them gather just under his ass. His fucking _incredible_ ass, Jesus. Steve wanted to bite it.

Thor squeezed Steve’s hips. “I believe you might be stalling.”

Steve frowned. “Oh yeah? What, you don’t think I can take it?”

“I do not doubt your resolve.”

“Well it kinda sounds like it,” Steve huffed, grabbing a handful of Thor’s underwear and dragging him in the direction of his bedroom. 

Thor just walked after him gracefully, anticipating his movements easily. When they reached the bedroom, Steve deliberately didn’t reach for the light switch, and was grateful when Thor followed his lead. When he hesitated, Thor swept him up around his middle and dumped him forwards onto the bed. Steve landed on his hands and knees and paused to catch his breath. He realized with a start how exposed he felt—even moreso than in the kitchen—but he didn’t have much time to worry about it before Thor was crowding behind him again, kicking off his pants and then kneeling with his thighs pressed to the back of Steve’s.

Steve's breath faltered in his throat when Thor reached down between their hips to hook the tip of his middle finger into Steve's hole again. He fucked in shallowly, emphasizing the moment with gentle rolls of his hips. 

"Are—you gonna fuck me like this?" Steve murmured in a loose, breathy tone. He tried to sound casual about it. 

"Not yet," Thor said, low and thoughtful. "I believe you have a device? For pleasuring yourself?"

Again, Steve felt his face heat with an impossible blush. "Oh my god," he groaned. "Yes, Thor, I have a vibrator." He flopped onto his back to look up at him, unsurprised to see the mirth in Thor's expression. "You saw it while I was moving in? Please tell me Sam didn't see it."

Thor shrugged. "I cannot say what he did or did not see."

"Oh my god, moving on, right now." Steve waved vaguely at the drawer near his bed. "It's in there." While Thor leaned across to rummage, Steve stroked his hip with one foot. "What did you want that for? Wanna compare?"

"No," Thor said simply. "I told you that I wish to ensure you are thoroughly satisfied."

Steve laughed loudly in surprise. "You're kidding. Oh my god." He shrugged helplessly. "Go for it, if you want."

Leaning over him, Thor reached into the drawer and pulled out the vibrator. He turned it over in his hand, inspecting it curiously.

“You think I can’t take it,” Steve said, matter of fact. “If you fuck me, I mean. You know, I have slept with guys before.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Thor said soothingly. 

Steve bit his lip, tamping down on his simmering annoyance. “I know,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose. “I get it, let’s just get on with it.”

It was clear pretty quick that Thor knew his way around a vibrator—then again, they were fairly intuitive even if he didn't—and he turned out to be painfully adept at teasing Steve with it until he thought he'd lose his mind. Thor didn't touch his cock, not once, but after fifteen minutes of holding Steve face down against the mattress—his ass in the air and the vibrator drawing his pleasure out again, slow and merciless—Steve was aching and ready to go off _again_. 

Seeming to sense that he was close, Thor changed the pace of his movements, pushing into him fast and shallow with the shaft of the vibrator, the end of it just kissing against his prostate.

“Don’t,” Steve moaned weakly, his hips jerking. “I can’t, ‘s too soon, can’t—”

“I believe you _can_ ,” Thor murmured, leaning close and nuzzling his mouth to the base of Steve’s spine. “You can do it.”

Steve sobbed when he came again, his dick jerking weakly. A thin trickle of jizz ran down his thigh, and he slumped onto his belly as soon as Thor let him go. 

“Most admirable,” Thor declared, giving him a hearty slap on the ass. 

Steve made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “Sorry,” he murmured, “all fucked out here, got nothin’ left.”

“I have never known you to yield so easily.” 

Steve could _hear_ the smirk in his voice, but that didn’t make it any easier to ignore the challenge. Swearing under his breath, Steve pushed himself up on still-shaking arms. Thor was kneeling beside him, his hands on his thighs, his cock standing up cheerfully against his belly. Steve was suddenly torn between wanting to put it in his mouth or climb right on board and ride him cowgirl. Still, no reason he had to choose between them. He grabbed a roll of condoms out of the drawer and tore a packet open. Thor watched him calmly as he rolled the condom on Thor’s dick, and leaned forwards to take it in his mouth. 

“Wait,” Thor said, sounding slightly strained. He grabbed another condom and lay on his back, gesturing for Steve to climb on top of him. “Do you object to me performing analingus on you?”

Steve sat down on Thor’s stomach, blushing furiously and laughing under his breath. “Do you always talk about sex like you just read a textbook?”

Thor laughed, rocking Steve where he sat. “I thought you knew me better, my friend. I like to watch you blush.”

“Asshole,” Steve muttered, leaning forwards to lick Thor’s cock. 

As soon as he got settled, Thor grabbed his hips and tugged him backwards. He wasted no time in pulling Steve closer so that he could feel Thor’s hot breath on the backs of his thighs, on his ass. Thor pressed a torn open condom over his hole and started to lick him slowly, very gently at first. Steve muffled his moan with Thor’s dick, swallowing it down to the back of his throat before easing off and bobbing his mouth in a tight ring over the head. He felt the shudder of Thor’s groan all the way down his legs, and whimpered when Thor pressed in deeper. 

Only two people had ever touched Steve like this with their mouths; the first, a guy in a bathhouse in the thirties; the other, a woman he’d met a year or so ago and shared a brief, anonymous fling. Both times had felt illicit and strange, intrusive yet filthy hot. Somehow, having Thor down there—a friend, someone he knew well—made it feel even dirtier. 

They teased one another slowly; Thor knew that Steve was fucked out and oversensitive, and Steve didn’t wanna make Thor come too soon, so what had been frantic and furious so far eased off until they were grinding against one another lazily. Thor started to rock his hips with slow, shallow movements, fucking gently into Steve’s throat. Steve pulled off at last, replacing it with his hand. 

“So,” he said in a rough voice, looking back over his shoulder. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

Thor nodded. "How would you like to—"

"I'll go on top," Steve said, brooking no argument. 

With a small nod, Thor settled against the pillows and reached out for his hand. "Your steed awaits, shield brother."

Steve's eyes widened for a second, but Thor's expression was perfectly neutral aside from a hint of anticipation. Steve glared at him, and Thor's mouth twitched. "You asshole," Steve spluttered, starting to crack up. "I can't believe you."

Thor bellowed with laughter, which was a little funny to see when he was stark naked and hard as a rock. Still laughing, Steve clambered on top of him and pulled him into a messy, giggly kiss. Thor grabbed onto his hips, unapologetically rocking Steve’s groin against his own. Steve’s dick was mostly soft and still slippery, and he gasped as it skidded up against Thor’s abdomen, much too sensitive to find pleasure, but not quite on the edge of pain either. Thor, on the other hand, was grinding up against his ass while they made out, until their laughter had cracked into a series of urgent, breathless sounds. 

“Do it,” Steve hissed, grinding down on Thor’s dick. He reached down between them, wrapping his fingers around Thor’s dick and lining him up. “C’mon.”

“I will take my lead from you,” Thor said, putting his hands over Steve’s hips. He didn’t push or pull, merely held him there. 

Steve pressed his palms flat on Thor’s chest and slowly started to ease himself down. Thor’s dick was big, but Steve had seen bigger—lengthwise, at least. Widthwise was what had set his belly rumbling with nerves, but he was so goddamn fucked out right now that all he cared about was getting Thor _inside him_ and the hell with anything else. 

“By the blood of my fathers,” Thor swore under his breath. “Despite the… _preparation_ , this is still—ah, most trying.”

"You're tellin' me," Steve gasped. The head of Thor's dick popped in suddenly and Steve let out a high-pitched moan before he could choke it down. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Thor growled, digging his fingers in hard. Steve felt a little thrill of pleasure at the thought of the bruises he’d have there tomorrow—for the rest of the week, for that matter. His skin was back to normal now, after all. He’d heal slow, just like everybody else.

Taking Thor in the rest of the way was easy by comparison; after the first two inches, Steve gritted his teeth and forced himself down slowly but steadily, not daring to stop. When he was sure that he could hold his position without any more humiliating noises, he opened his eyes finally and found Thor staring up at him with a patient, wondering gaze. 

“You make a truly handsome sight, my friend,” Thor murmured, moving his fingers delicately over Steve’s ribs.

Steve averted his eyes with a practised smirk. “I liked it better when you were makin’ fun of me.”

"It comes easily with you," Thor said, shifting his hips slightly to make Steve gasp and bite his lip. "But I admit that teasing is not usually my way when I lie with someone."

"Nah, you're a romantic," Steve said in a shaky voice, rocking back against the weight that filled him. He grimaced. "Ah, Jesus—"

Thor stroked one of his thighs, down to his knee, then gently up his inner thigh. "Steven?"

Steve shook his head. "It's okay, I'm okay. It's just—a lot, but it feels good. _Really_ good." It hurt a little too, but he wasn’t about to mention that to Thor. It was a good kind of hurt anyway, strange: like poking a bruise maybe, or a tough massage working out a knot of bunched muscle. There was something deep and satisfying about it. 

Cautiously, Steve started to shift his ass back and forward more intently, his voice escaping in soft, short grunts with each movement. He picked up the pace gradually, working himself up and down on shaking legs, and taking comfort in the fact that Thor looked pretty fucking undone by it too. Steve reached up to touch his face, running the pad of his thumb along Thor’s jawline, scraping at his beard. Thor pulled him down to kiss him, open-mouthed and desperate. He bit Steve’s upper lip, then the bottom one too, sucking it into his mouth and grinding his teeth over it. 

“Christ,” Steve murmured when they broke away. Thor rocked his hips, not hard, but it made Steve feel full and swollen and _golden_. “God, yes,” he gasped. “Fuck me, Thor, fuck me—”

Thor obeyed, driving up into Steve with slow but forceful movements, grasping his hips to hold him steady for the onslaught. Steve threw his head back with a gasp and let it out again as a long, wavery moan. He felt like he was on fire, burning from the inside out. He wanted Thor to fuck him raw, to fuck him so hard he wouldn’t be able to walk straight the next day, but he didn’t know how to ask for that.

“Thor,” he said in a breathless voice. 

Growling, Thor rolled them over and grabbed Steve’s legs, hooking them up over his shoulders. “Is this alright?” he asked, folding Steve in on himself as he leaned in to kiss him. 

Steve nodded fervently. “Yes,” he gasped, “please.”

Slowly, Thor lined up against him once more and slowly pushed inside. It took Steve’s breath away all over again and he stared up at Thor, dazed and appallingly grateful. Thor’s hair hung down between them, curtaining their faces together. Steve reached up to grasp a hank of it in his fingers and Thor grinned at him, dark and feral.

“Fuck me,” Steve begged.

Thor leaned down and bit his chin. “Gladly,” he murmured.


	8. Chapter 8

After a week spent almost entirely in Thor’s company—some of it clothed, much of it not—Steve was taking a day off to recover. He hadn’t seen Rogers at all, or much of anyone for that matter, and any little downtime had been mostly given over to reading or working out at his new gym. He’d been given fairly strict orders by Doctor Flores not to work out too hard, but a little cardio wasn’t gonna do him any harm. 

Just then he was reading by the window. The buzzer went off, but it cut out almost immediately, so Steve figured it was either a wrong number or someone had let his visitor into the building. A minute later, someone knocked on his door.

“It’s open!” he called out, reading to end of the paragraph before he looked up. He'd expected Sam, maybe Rogers, but it was Bucky. He was standing just inside the doorway, his face open and scared, and Steve was sickened with himself when it occurred to him that he hadn't recognized Bucky's voice. 

"Buck," he whispered, anxiety squeezing his guts like a fist. 

“Steve?”

Bucky crossed the room slowly, barely pausing to drop his duffel by the door and unzip his jacket. Steve got awkwardly to his feet, trying not to let it show that he was stiff from sitting in one place too long. "Fuck," Bucky said, when they were just a couple of feet apart. He reached out, like he wanted to touch, but apparently he thought better of it and pulled his hand back before Steve could do or say anything. 

The moment stretched out while neither of them knew what to say. Eventually, Steve tried for a crooked smile. "Tell me about it. How ya been, Buck?"

"What happened?" Bucky asked tightly, almost before Steve had finished speaking. 

"Don't know," Steve said, with a sad twist to his mouth. "They’re still trying to figure that out.”

Bucky frowned. “But there—you’re still the same, too? I mean—”

“Yeah, there’s two of us,” Steve said quietly. “I’m just the same on the inside. Except for the serum, I guess."

Bucky moistened his bottom lip with his tongue, an old habit he had for when he didn't know how to put something. "But you—you're okay?"

Steve shrugged. "I'm a lot healthier than I used to be, so that helps. Plus I can afford to see a doctor and they've got all this fancy medicine.” He grinned. “It's kinda like living in the future."

"Funny," Bucky said, but he still looked tired and worried. 

"Hey," Steve said, reaching out and touching his right arm gently. "I'm really okay."

Bucky flinched slightly when Steve's fingers brushed his arm, but he grabbed Steve's wrist before he could pull away. "You're so different," he muttered, his voice soft with wonder. He loosened his grip on Steve's arm and slid his hand up, his touch light and curious. His fingers brushed Steve's throat, and Steve swallowed hard. If you didn't include fighting and hasty field dressings, this was the closest he and Bucky had been in almost seventy years. 

"I like your glasses," Bucky said quietly, and Steve couldn’t help the shy smile that tugged at his mouth. “And you cut your hair?”

Steve nodded. “Thought I’d try somethin’ different.”

“It looks good.” 

“Thank you, Buck.” Bucky’s fingers touched his jaw and Steve swallowed hard. “Listen—”

“I gotta go,” Bucky said, pulling away abruptly.

"Wait—"

"Debrief," Bucky said, looking away from him. "We'll catch up later."

Steve sighed miserably. "Christ, Bucky, you've been gone for months. I know—maybe we're not _friends_ , and that's okay, but I still care about you." 

Bucky stopped halfway to the door and, after a moment's hesitation, he glanced over his shoulder. "Later," he said in a rough tone. "I promise." He forced himself to smile. “And of course we’re friends, stupid.”

 

 

Steve spoke as soon as Rogers picked up the phone. 

“Steve R—”

“He’s back.”

There was silence from Rogers. Then, finally, “He’s there now?”

Steve bit his lip. “He was. Came by, just to—see.”

“Right.”

“He’s debriefing now. I’m sure he’ll call after that.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll call you, if—”

“Fine.”

Rogers hung up, and Steve tried not to feel hurt.

 

 

Bucky called him three hours later, and Steve let it have one full ring before he answered, just so he didn't seem _totally_ desperate. It was a surprise that Bucky was calling; he hated to talk on the phone, and sure enough he sounded brisk and uncomfortable when Steve answered, but he was calm enough inviting Steve to get coffee.

"Are you sure you're up to that?" Steve asked, and quickly sought for a way to ease the blow of double guessing Bucky. "I mean—I never feel like being out when I just got back from a mission, so if you don't mind a little awkwardness, you're welcome over here for coffee."

"I'd like that."

Bucky showed up about thirty minutes later, this time waiting for Steve to buzz him up to the apartment. 

"Hey," Steve said, opening the door to him. He'd changed from his sweatpants and hoodie to a pair of loose fitting—but clean—jeans and a sweater. Steve watched Bucky's eyes drag over him from head to toe and suppressed the urge to cover himself in a blanket. "Coffee or tea? Uh, or I think Sam left some hot chocolate?" Bucky raised an eyebrow and Steve shrugged. "He likes mocha."

"Coffee, thanks."

Steve went about making coffee while Bucky prowled his living room. "You haven't unpacked yet?" he said at last, just as Steve set the coffee on the table. 

"Nothing else to unpack." Steve shrugged and sat. "Not like I've got all that much stuff in New York, and what I do I'm sharing with Rogers."

Bucky seemed to flinch slightly, before he came and sat in the chair to Steve's right. Steve couldn't help wondering if Bucky had deliberately placed himself by Steve's good ear. "So is he living here too?"

Steve shook his head. "At the Tower right now. I needed my own space."

"It's a nice place."

"Thanks." Awkward silence descended on them.

“Sorry for ditching you like that earlier," Bucky said at last. "I wasn’t really supposed to see you before I checked in.” Bucky sighed a little, staring at the floor. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“What, you were worried?" Steve said lightly. “About a big tough guy like me?”

Bucky shook his head, barely reacting otherwise, and Steve felt a flush of guilt. "I asked, at the office," he said at last, glancing up at Steve. "They said nobody knows how this happened?" 

"Don't forget the part where they can't put me back," Steve said with a little bitter pout. "Unless some magical miracle happens along, I'm stuck this way."

"Would that be so bad?" 

Although instinct made Steve's hackles rise, a glance at Bucky made it clear that he was genuinely asking the question. Nobody besides his therapist had actually asked him yet how he felt about being this way, at least not in a way that made him want to respond. He had to look away from Bucky's open, earnest expression.

"I'm not—" Steve faltered and started again. "Everyone, everything I've been for the past five years, it's all gone. I don't know who I'm supposed to be anymore. I don't know if I'm even capable of being anything."

He took a long, deep breath. While he attempted to order his thoughts, Bucky reached over and put a hand over his on the tabletop. Steve realized with a sudden, horrible clarity the things he'd just said. He looked up sharply, but Bucky just closed his hand around Steve's fingers and gave him a wan smile. 

"Would you believe," he said quietly. "I think I know just what you mean."

 

 

Several days later, Steve had just stepped out of the shower when Nat texted him.

_**You, me: coffee and people watching. You in?** _

**always! today?**

_**Pick you up in fifteen :)** _

Natasha took him to a little coffee place he didn't know and bought them both coffee to go. 

"I thought we could sit in the park," she said, hooking her arm through his. 

Steve nodded. "Sounds great." 

It was a little strange walking arm in arm with Natasha now that they were more or less the same height. On the other hand they hadn't spent much time together for a while, and Steve felt calmer in her presence. 

"So I hear a certain nonagenarian got home yesterday," she said after they'd talked about nothing in particular for a few blocks. 

"Rogers tell you?"

She smirked. "I saw Bucky."

Steve looked away. "Oh right. You guys talked?"

"Briefly. He couldn't stop, he was on his way to meet you."

"Yeah," Steve muttered, feeling unaccountably shy. "I think he wanted to catch up. After what happened to me. To us."

"He's really worried about you." 

Steve looked up at her in surprise. "Did he say that?" In reply, Natasha just raised her eyebrow and Steve snorted. "Right, sorry, you read his mind." 

"So do you think that's why he came to see you and not Rogers?" Natasha gave him a pointed look over the rim of her take out cup. "I got the impression you and he weren't on great terms before he took on that contract with SHIELD. I guess it's surprising he came to see either of you."

"I can't speak to what Bucky does or why," Steve said, aware that he was evading her and not caring.

Natasha shrugged. "Maybe he feels more comfortable around you now."

The anxious sensation rising in his chest at the mention of Bucky took over, gripping his chest and throat. "I—would rather not think about that," he said, struggling through his sudden breathlessness. "The idea that he was so _un_ comfortable around me before. That—I can't think about that."

Natasha squeezed his arm gently; it was an apology, Steve knew, and he let himself be comforted by it. "Well I hope the two—or three—of you work things out. Maybe this could be a chance for you and Bucky to get to know one another again."

Steve smiled wanly, thinking of the careful way Bucky had held his hand yesterday while they talked. "Yeah," he said. "Maybe."

They reached the park and Natasha found them a bench to park up on. Steve was already feeling tired. He had to start putting some serious time in at the gym. 

"I actually didn't drag you out here to talk about Bucky, _or_ Rogers." 

Steve sat beside her, just close enough to soak up her body heat. "Oh yeah?" Natasha looked thoughtful for a moment, and Steve realized that she was trying to work out how to phrase something for him. He laughed at the strangeness of it. "Nat, come on, what is it?"

Her mouth tightened, then she flashed him a sad smile. "I'm sorry this happened, Steve, truly."

"O—kay?"

"So, seeing as you're stuck this way," she went on, while Steve winced, "I have a proposal."

Steve sipped his coffee in silence. 

"I have some contacts. You're Steve Rogers, of course, but if you didn't want to be anymore..."

"What are you suggesting?"

She shrugged. "I'm not saying you should disappear. But my contact could set you up with a new identity. Social security, bank account, the lot. _Without_ you being dependant on SHIELD or Stark Industries."

Steve felt his mouth make a half smile. "Start over?"

"If that's what you want." She reached over and touched his knee. "As far as anyone can tell, you're stuck this way now, Steve. Trust me when I say that official channels will be having this conversation with you soon enough."

"Why would they bother? I'm not—"

"Whatever you've convinced yourself of, you could still be vitally useful, Steve. To SHIELD, the government, pretty much anyone who brings you this offer in exchange for your services."

Steve's breathing hitched and he stared back at her. "You think they'll trade me an identity for my skills?"

Natasha frowned. "I'm surprised they haven't already tried. Honestly, the benefits of having two of you far outweigh the inconvenience."

"And you don't think I should take them up on it."

She shrugged. "I'm offering an alternative, not advice. All I can say is that I know what it feels to be—indebted." She reached up to find his hand and squeezed it. "The choice of what you do now, Steve? That's yours to make."

Thankfully Natasha changed the subject and they spent the next hour or so watching the people walking in the park and making up stories about them. It was one of the few things that Steve knew he was better at than Natasha, but where it also didn’t matter. She had a better imagination for her own covers than imagining backgrounds for strangers, whereas Steve and Bucky had used to play this game for hours when they were younger. He couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky would ever want to play it now. 

“You coming to the party tonight, Rogers?” Natasha asked at last, leaning back and watching him. “Or whatever you’re calling yourself these days.”

Steve scowled at her fondly. “There’s a party?”

“Don’t you read your emails anymore?” she teased, clucking her tongue. “It’s Thor’s going away party, we're having some fancy dinner. He didn’t mention it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve murmured, ducking his head in a vain attempt to hide his blush. “I guess he did.”

“Damn, Rogers,” Natasha said in an approving voice. “Wilson’s gonna be up ten bucks. I didn’t think you two had sealed the deal.”

Steve smirked. “Multiple times. Actually, last night he—"

"Save it for your biography," she interrupted, laughing. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're getting some, but I don't need the details."

"I'll save them for Sam," he said, winking at her.

Natasha grinned. "Just don't tell him at the party. He _will_ share the gory details with everyone he speaks to."

 

 

On the subway home Steve got a text from Rogers.

_**You coming tonight? :)** _

**only if you hit on Thor**

_**???** _   
_**Are you serious?** _

**are YOU?**   
**He wants to tap that. Get yourself laid already.**

_**You sound like Sam** _

**if you don't do it I'm gonna tell him I want a threesome**   
**Thor not Sam**

_**Oh my god** _   
_**my imagination feels dirty now thanks** _   
_**Okay but** _   
_**Do you actually want that?** _

**i don't know?**   
**This is weird to talk about via text**   
**Do you? I'm pretty sure he's up for that**

_**fuck** _   
_**Should I call him** _

**yes Rogers oh my god**  
 **booty call the God of thunder**

_**lmao fuck you** _

**you know what just make a reservation for one**   
**we can double team him another time**

_**You sure?** _

**Yeah, you deserve to get him to yourself for a while**   
**see you tonight, flower**

 

 

So the idea was that letting Tony host them all in a cushy restaurant—hired out for the night on Avengers business only—meant less likelihood for drinking games and instagram regretted. Steve did not hold out much hope, especially when Thor cornered him on his way inside and made a valiant attempt to lick his tonsils. 

"Our friend Rogers has invited me for coffee after our meal," he said in a low, dark voice that made Steve shiver. "Are you sure you do not want to join us?"

Steve gasped. "Thanks, I—think I should give you guys some time alone."

Thor beamed at him. "Coffee is a euphemism, of course."

"Yeah," Steve said, snorting with laughter. "I know, and I'm pleased for you two. Gonna be a damn good show."

Everyone, miraculously, arrived at more or less the same time. Natasha and Sam showed up together, and Steve cracked up when he caught Rogers waggling his eyebrows at him from across the room. Tony and Pepper were there, obviously, and to Steve's surprise there was Bucky, talking to Clint in a corner. It took everything in him not to go right over, and he could see that Rogers was having a similar struggle. He made himself go talk to Pepper rather than muscle in on the conversation. Steve had spent so long holding himself back, forcing himself to give Bucky space, that it was now more instinctive than talking had ever been. He’d never had to _practise_ talking to Bucky.

They all sat around the table eventually; Steve ended up between Pepper and Clint. Bucky was on the other side of Pepper, meaning Steve couldn’t even make eye contact with him. 

The atmosphere was a little awkward at first, and after catching one or two worried looks Steve realized that they were all expecting him and Rogers to get into it. Back in '38 Steve had a friend called Jack that Bucky just could not stand; they fought every time they got within ten feet of one another, and even after Steve told them to knock it off they were always snarling like a couple of street mutts. He couldn't help but wonder if being around him and Rogers had been like that for their friends. 

Just then Rogers made a joke and Steve started laughing so hard that he splurted wine out of his nose. Bucky was the only other person laughing and Rogers looked pleased as punch, while everyone else just looked bewildered. 

"Well," Tony said, looking as if he wanted to know what was funny but didn't want to ask. "That puts a whole new spin on laughing at your own joke."

Bucky leaned over Clint to pass Steve his napkin. There was still wine running down Steve's chin, so he took it without complaint and mopped himself up. The incident broke the ice at least, and if Steve kept to himself for the rest of the meal, well, sometimes it was easier to watch than to join in. 

The evening wrapped up eventually. After he was done saying goodbye to everybody two or three times--because everybody except Rogers and Thor was pleasantly drunk--Steve was surprised to find himself face to face with Bucky. 

"Walk you to the subway?" Bucky said quietly, tilting his head. They were already a little distance from the group, which made it easier to shrug and slip away in the direction of the subway strain. 

"I thought you'd left already," Steve said, sounding apologetic in his own ears. Bucky hadn't been in his round of farewells and Steve had assumed that he'd bailed before they started. 

Bucky shrugged. "Wanted to talk. Didn't really get a chance all night."

Deep inside, Steve glowed. "I wanted to talk to you too," he said, hiding his smile in his scarf. 

"Alright then, you first."

Steve laughed. "Oh no, I just--I just wanted to say hi I guess." He glanced across and Bucky gave him a funny smile. 

"Hi there, Stevie."

"You haven't called me that in a while," Steve muttered, hoping the streetlight glow would hide the blush he could feel making its way across his cheeks. "Okay, your turn."

Bucky cleared his throat and looked sidelong at Steve. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes." Steve raised his eyebrows. "That it?"

"Shut up," Bucky muttered, looking back at his feet. "Nah, I just--well, Steve. Uh, other Steve, I mean. Shit, how do you deal with that?"

Steve made a face. "I call him Rogers. Pretty sure he hates it, and I've got no clue what he calls me when I'm not there."

"Makes sense. Anyway, Coulson's asked him for a month on the bus."

"A month?" Steve snarled. "God, he'll do it, too."

"Well, you would."

Steve scowled. "Yeah."

They walked in silence for a minute, Steve's boots occasionally skidding on the frosty sidewalk, before Bucky finally spoke up again. 

"So, anyway it means I got some downtime."

Steve flashed him an encouraging smile. "Oh yeah? It's about time. What're you gonna do with it?"

"Well," Bucky ventured, sounding shy and out of his depth. "You and I are way overdue for some quality time."

"You wanna spend time with me?" Steve asked, stopping in his tracks for a moment. "I thought--I mean. Yeah, that's great. I'd really love that, Bucky."

Bucky laughed self consciously. "Easy, tiger," he teased, throwing an awkward look Steve's way. "Thor said you guys had been doing some sightseeing, thought maybe we could pick up where you left off."

It was true that he and Thor had crammed in a respectable amount of tourist crap over the past week, but Steve couldn't help that his mind immediately dove into the gutter. He was almost certain Thor had done it on purpose. 

"Yeah, yeah," he fumbled, hurrying after Bucky. "That would be great. There's still plenty I haven't done." 

Bucky smiled at him brightly. "Great." 

They reached Steve's stop and Bucky leaned close enough to nudge Steve's arm with his own before stepping away. "Night, Stevie."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hey 'Eddie'. So now that you're no longer the second most recognizable superhero in the world, you wanna come to a meeting with me?** _

**a VA meeting? Seriously Sam?**

_**sure why not** _

**well for one thing who's gonna buy that I was an officer in the US army**  
**Or any army for that matter**

_**size isn’t everything, thumbelina. You talk the talk, that's enough for a roomful of vets.** _

**I just don't think I'm ready for that**

_**nobody's ever ready to talk about it, Steve** _  
_**Sometimes you just need to try** _

**Okay, I'll think about it**

_**I'll get you the number for a group** _  
_**Maybe you and Bucky could go together** _

**Oh, I don't know**  
**he might not be up for that**  
**I could ask**  
**wait**  
**are you saying Tony is more recognizable than me?**

 

 

It was two days before Bucky called, right when Steve was still working up the courage to ask him about the VA meeting. Steve had therapy and a doctor’s appointment in the meantime. The latter was a bust, as usual, but therapy was surprisingly good. Things were looking up between him and Rogers; Bucky was home and he wanted to hang out, and Steve had started drawing again every day. Considering that he was apparently stuck as an asthmatic mayfly for good, things could have been worse. 

“Bucky, hey,” Steve said, picking up on the second vibrate. He'd found that using the vibrate setting was easier than trusting himself to hear the ringtone. 

“You wanna go to a bakery?”

“Sure, when’s good?”

Bucky snorted. “Depends. How long will it take you to meet me at the bodega on the corner?”

Steve leapt to his feet. “Give me three minutes.”

When Steve reached the deli he found Bucky crouched against a wall with his gloved metal hand buried in the scruff of a large husky. It took Steve a moment to recognize him; his hair was pulled up under a newsboy cap, and he wore a big duffel coat and a thick knit scarf. 

“Hey there.”

Bucky looked up and gave Steve a tight smile. There was something stiff to his movements; he was braced against the wall as if he meant to push away from it any moment, rather than taking his leisure against it. After a moment’s hesitation he held out his right hand to Steve, who tugged him to his feet. 

“Friend of yours?” Steve asked, bending to ruffle the husky’s ears. 

Bucky shrugged. “I like dogs.”

“I thought you liked cats?”

“I like both.” He raised his eyebrow. “You wanna argue about domesticated animals, or you wanna get coffee?”

Steve smiled bashfully. “Coffee.”

Bucky took them on the train over to Red Hook. It was a long way to go for a bakery, but it gave them plenty of time to talk on the subway. In theory at least. Bucky was quiet at first, keeping his hands jammed in his pockets and giving a cursory once-over to each new passenger in their train compartment. When he finally broke the silence, it was to tug at the collar of Steve’s jacket and demand to know why he wasn’t wearing a decent winter coat. 

“I’m not cold,” Steve protested, laughing at Bucky’s scowl. The scowl deepened. “I’m really not!”

“Probably because you’re used to surviving arctic winters in a third-hand jacket,” Bucky muttered, looking away again. “A man oughta know when he’s freezing his balls off.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “My balls are fine, Buck, thanks for your concern.” He barely restrained himself from adding, “Take a look if you don’t believe me,” and reasoned that he’d been spending too much time around Thor. Instead he focused on the fact that Bucky had brought up their childhood, without prompting from anyone. Steve could only think of half a dozen occasions that had happened before. He hoped it wasn’t just his stupid height that had triggered it. 

They changed trains and Bucky started to ease up, finally losing the spooked look he’d worn since Steve met him at the bodega. Steve desperately wanted to know what had upset him; whether it had happened on his way to meet Steve, or whether it was the reason he’d called in the first place. Either way, he’d finally relaxed enough to make conversation; he asked about Steve’s new neighborhood and about what he’d been doing since the incident. 

“It’s kind of cool, you know?” Bucky ventured. “I mean, sure in some ways it sucks, but it’s like something out of a movie. I mean—there’s so much you could _do_.”

Steve smiled at him, and Bucky’s wary expression broke into a beautiful grin. Coming from Bucky, the whole idea of seeing a positive side didn’t seem so ridiculous. Perhaps because he was so genuinely enthusiastic, rather than trying to provide hollow comfort. 

At last, Bucky indicated that they’d reached their destination, and Steve followed him up to the street. In the clammy atmosphere of the subway he'd forgotten how cold it was outside, and the wind ripped into him before he got his jacket fastened. 

Bucky gave him a _look_.

"Yeah, yeah," Steve said, scowling. "I get it, you're always right. I'll buy a new coat." 

When there was no sarcastic response, Steve chanced a look at Bucky and found that he was hiding a bashful smile in his scarf. 

"What is it?"

Bucky shrugged. "Nothing." They kept on walking in silence, but after a minute he spoke again. "I mean—it's just stupid."

Steve nudged him cautiously with his arm. "You're talking to the walking definition of stupid decisions. Try me."

"Your words," Bucky said, chuckling. He looked thoughtful. "I guess it's just that nobody really tells me I'm right about anything. Not that often."

"Oh," Steve said sadly. He was struck by the urge to take Bucky's hand or hold him, but he wasn't sure how to offer. "Well I'm sorry for that, Buck," he said instead. "I think you're right about a lot of things." 

Bucky huffed. Steve thought maybe he was pleased, but didn't want to look and make him uncomfortable by staring. 

"We're here," Bucky said after a minute, saving Steve the decision of what else to say. "You wanna get a table or get something to go?"

"Your call," Steve said with a shrug, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "What's good here?"

They ended up getting a table, and Steve ordered coffee while Bucky went to grab them something to eat. Steve left Bucky the corner seat, where he'd have a good view of the entire room. It was the seat Steve would have picked for himself, so he was surprised when Bucky returned and instead took the seat to Steve's right, with his back to the majority of the place. 

"What'd you get?" Bucky said impatiently, picking up his coffee and inhaling it with an expectant look. "Mm," he hummed, his face taking on a serene expression. "Vanilla?"

Steve nodded. "I hope you still have a sweet tooth."

Bucky's cheeks flushed slightly from the stream off his drink. Steve watched while he set it down and unfastened his heavy coat. 

"Everything okay?" Steve asked. 

At once, Bucky's expression shuttered. "Yeah," he muttered, hiding his face with his coffee cup. “What’d the doctor say?”

Steve made a face. “Nat’s such a gossip.”

Bucky just glared at him until he gave in.

“I’m fine, jeez. She gave me a flu shot, that’s about it.”

“ _Good_ ,” Bucky said emphatically, before turning all of his attention to his coffee. 

They sat for a little while in a companionable silence, listening to the bustle of the place around them. Steve tried his best not to stare at Bucky, as much as he wanted to. He like to eavesdrop on conversations when he went out; he was endlessly fascinated by the way people talked nowadays, the slang and internet words they threw into their conversations. It was much more difficult now, to keep his focus on Bucky and on the couple behind him at the same time. They were arguing good-naturedly about the husband’s parents, and their back and forth was so charming that Steve started smiling without realizing it.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Bucky said, watching him with a wry expression.

Steve glanced over, caught short. “Sorry, what?” he said, blushing. “I was in my own world.”

Bucky tilted his head and considered Steve for a long moment. He propped his chin on his left hand, still gloved. “Thinking about someone?”

“Oh,” Steve said, laughing self-consciously. “Not exactly.” He leaned in closer so that he could explain about the couple’s argument without them overhearing. This close, he could smell Bucky’s shampoo, and feel Bucky’s breath on his neck. Steve shuddered and cut his explanation short so that he could pull away again. 

Back in his own little bubble of personal space, Steve took a deep breath and deliberately didn’t look at the way Bucky lips were full and pink as he needlessly blew on his coffee. Steve felt hot and crowded, and he would’ve moved to the seat in the corner if he didn’t think Bucky might take it as a personal affront. The last thing he could do right now was make Bucky more self-conscious. 

“Is this awkward?” Bucky said at last, breaking the silence that Steve had barely noticed falling between them again. 

Steve's heart sank, but he thought for a moment before replying. “Do you feel awkward?”

Bucky shook his head, frowning. “I don't know. I don't think so.”

“Me neither,” Steve said, biting down on a smile. Bucky caught his eye and Steve gave up on keeping it down. The smile caught at his mouth and he watched as Bucky reflected it back at him. “I don't feel awkward at all.” Bucky’s smile widened, and Steve felt a tug of guilt. “Okay, maybe a little awkward, but it’s not because of you.”

“Oh?” Bucky asked, and though his expression remained warm, Steve caught the way his eyebrows flexed inquisitively and the corners of his mouth tightened. 

“It’s Sam, he thinks...well, he suggested that I ask you something?”

Bucky chewed his bottom lip. “Okay?”

Steve took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. He opened them again and focused on his hands holding his coffee. It shouldn’t have been so hard to ask; it was for Bucky, after all. He blurted it all out quickly, only daring to look up and meet Bucky’s eyes once he was done. They held each other’s gaze for a painfully long moment, then Bucky shrugged. 

“Sure, I’ll go. When is it?”

Steve blinked stupidly. “You—wait, what? Did I hear that right?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Bucky muttered, looking away. “I said I’d go.”

“Oh, great,” Steve said, feeling a little stunned. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect—I thought I’d misheard.”

“Nah,” Bucky said, relenting with a smirk. “Your hearing ain’t all that bad.”

Steve nodded and scrambled in his pocket for his phone. “Okay, so—so, uh. There’s a meeting tomorrow morning, or is that too soon? It’s at eleven.”

“Eleven is fine. Text me the address.”

“Okay,” Steve said, forwarding Sam’s message to Bucky. “Hey, uh, Buck?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

Bucky smiled and rolled his eyes. “Don’t thank me yet, cowboy. I’m not holding your hand if you cry.”

Steve laughed. “Okay. I’ll hold yours.”

“Deal.”

 

 

Steve woke early the following morning and spent the rest of it worrying about Bucky. He sent Sam more than a dozen texts until Sam stopped replying, then he got desperate and called Rogers. 

“He agreed to go? Just like that?”

“I know, I was just as surprised as you.”

“Wow. You know, though, he's been seeing a therapist for a while now.”

Steve flumped back against the arm of the couch. “Damn, I hadn't even thought about that.” 

Rogers was silent for a minute. The line was crackly, so presumably he wasn't at the tower. He'd abandoned any pretense of informing Steve when he'd be on missions. “So you think it'll help?”

“I hope so. I'm just crossing my fingers that it isn't gonna make him feel worse.”

“Yeah,” Rogers said awkwardly. “Actually, I meant you.”

Steve felt stupid. “Oh,” he said. “Uh, yeah, maybe? It'll get Sam off my case at least.”

Rogers cleared his throat. “Okay, well, good luck. Let me know how it goes, if you want.”

“Yeah,” Steve muttered. “I'll keep an eye on him while you're gone, don't worry.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

 

 

The meeting was rough. Steve didn't chip in with his own experiences, and Bucky stayed silent too, but listening to the other stories made Steve feel like he'd been turned inside out and scrubbed with steel wool. 

One young guy had been a POW, and when he talked about being held in solitary one time Steve suddenly flashed back to a half buried memory about the time he'd been trapped in a foxhole for two days by an errant shell. The sense memory overwhelmed him suddenly: he was pinned, surrounded by darkness, with damp earth getting in his eyes and mouth. There was pressure all around him, clamped tight on his wrists and ankles. But that wasn't right. Steve had never been captured and restrained like that. 

“Steve. Stevie, listen to me.”

Steve slowly became aware that he'd closed his eyes, and he forced himself to open them. He was in the hallway at the VA, crouched on the floor between Bucky's knees. 

“Hey, c'mon Stevie, you're safe, I've got you.”

“Bucky?” Steve whispered, his voice cracked and awful. 

Bucky cupped his face and wiped Steve's cheeks with the end of his sleeves. “Hey, there you are.”

“How did I get out here?” 

“You got a little upset in there,” Bucky said in a casual tone. “Thought you might like a little air. Plus I promised I'd hold your hand.”

Steve was mortified. A roomful of strangers had just seen him totally lose it. _Bucky_ had just seen—

“Hey, Rogers,” Bucky said sharply. “Hey, look at me.”

Reluctantly, Steve forced himself to meet Bucky's eyes. They were a dark grey color in the dimly lit hallway, and Steve examined them carefully. Bucky's pupils were wide thanks to the low lighting, and he was hardly blinking, focusing intently on Steve instead. After a minute, Steve realized that he had unconsciously matched his breathing to Bucky's, slowing it to a much more restful pace. 

“That's better,” Bucky said softly, stroking Steve's face again with his thumbs. 

Steve sniffed loudly. “I feel so stupid.” Bucky let go of him, but took hold of one of Steve's hands instead and held it in his lap. Steve took a deep, suffering breath. “One time in ’44, we were in France, and I got shelled into a foxhole.”

Bucky went rigid. “We looked for two days. I thought I was gonna dig up your corpse.”

Steve shook. “Bucky,” he whispered again. 

To his surprise, Bucky surged forward and flung his arms around Steve's shoulders, pulling him in tight. “I've got you,” he murmured. “I've got you, you're safe, Stevie, you're safe.”

Steve sputtered out a mucusy sob and wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist. They were still sitting there when the meeting let out a quarter of an hour later, people spilling slowly into the hallway ten feet away. Steve finally pulled himself together, letting go of Bucky and wiping his face on his own sleeve. 

“C'mon,” Bucky said, getting to his feet. “I'm buying you the biggest damn slice of cherry pie we can find.” 

 

 

“I don't wanna sound paranoid,” Steve said, speaking up to be heard and looking from Pepper to Nat and back again. “But this idea is starting to sound more and more like a coordinated mission.”

“Why, Steven,” Nat said in the saccharine tone of voice she used when she'd been rumbled. “Surely you don't suspect Pepper and me of plotting against you?” 

Steve stared at them. Nat slammed the ball into the far corner of the box, missing Pepper's reach by inches. 

“Damn!” Pepper yelled. “Good shot. C'mon, Steve, you're in.” She tossed him her tennis racket and strode off the court to grab her water bottle. Nat spun the racket on her hands and made a face at Steve.

“I know you're plotting,” he said, fetching a couple of stray tennis balls and dropping them in his pockets. 

“Plotting against your free time maybe,” Pepper conceded, wiping water off her face with the back of her wrist. 

Steve had to hand it to them. They were good. “So,” he said, summing up. He looked at Pepper. “You want me to teach kids to draw.” Then he looked at Nat. “And you wanna set me up with the program coordinator.”

“Your serve,” Nat said. 

“He's just your type,” Pepper put in, glancing at Natasha. “Big, blond, works out a lot.”

Steve, getting ready to serve, burst out laughing. “Oh my god,” he said, already feeling himself start to blush. “What makes you think that's my type?”

Natasha’s mouth twitched. “Aside from the obvious, Rogers?” she teased. 

Steve definitely blushed at that. He’d told her about Thor, obviously, but he’d hoped it was still a relative secret, and he was fairly sure she hadn't mentioned his and Rogers’ ...trysts to Pepper. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility that she might. “I get it, I get it,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “You know about me and Thor.”

He took his stance again and served the ball. Natasha returned it easily. 

“Half of Manhattan knows about you and Thor,” Pepper said kindly. “You are two of the least subtle people I've ever met.”

Steve groaned. “But not really, right? Someone would definitely have told me if we'd made the papers.”

Pepper laughed. “No gossip blogs, you're safe.”

“Oh, good.”

Natasha didn't seem to be bent on destroying him, the way she had been with Pepper, and they were rallying the ball back and forth amiably. Not having to dash around too much left Steve just enough breath to talk. 

“So about this program,” Nat said, with a predatory look that suggested she was _not_ talking about the youth arts program. 

Steve snorted. “If you wanna get someone laid, try Rogers. He's got more stamina.”

“I suppose Bucky must have a lot of stamina too,” Nat mused.

Pepper threw a spare ball at her, surprising Nat so much that she yelped and dropped her racket. Steve was impressed. Still, they both looked at him expectantly.

“Uh, I guess,” Steve said, stalling while his mind spun its wheels. “He's—yeah, I mean, he got the serum too. Or _a_ serum. Whatever they gave him is different from what I—what Rogers has, but we—” Steve stopped and looked away, aware that he was rambling. “Never mind.”

Pepper cleared her throat gently. “Have you two seen much of each other since everything that happened?”

Steve shrugged. “A little. I mean, yeah, we hang out a few times a week, while we're both off duty. Bucky knows Brooklyn better than me these days, he took me to this bakery—” He paused, remembering Bucky blushing over his sickly sweet coffee, and smiled. “It was really good.”

“Oh gosh,” Pepper said, meeting Nat's eyes. “I'll let Jeff down gently.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Steve glared at Natasha. “It’s not like me and Bucky—it’s just not like that.”

“What’s it like, Steve?” she asked quietly. 

Steve looked at Pepper's sad, sympathetic expression. He scowled and snagged another ball out of his pocket. “C'mon, Potts,” he said angrily. “We came here to play tennis, not talk about my love life.”

“I'll play you both,” Natasha said, retrieving her racket. “And if I win we get to talk about setting you up with Bucky.”

“ _No_ ,” Steve and Pepper said in unison. 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. Loser buys dinner.” She held up a hand and Steve tossed her the ball. “But I _know_ there's something going on there, even if you don't.”

 

 

Naturally, all Steve could think about after seeing Pepper and Nat was Bucky. He met with Jeff the program director two days later—Pepper was right, the guy was gorgeous—who introduced him to the other members of staff and walked him through the program. They already worked with kids in hospitals; Steve's task would be helping to plan and then roll out a similar system in care and foster homes. 

The meeting lasted two hours and was utterly overwhelming and thrilling. Steve was exhausted by the time he finally made it home, after changing subway lines three times and stopping to pick up groceries. 

Pepper called him just as he walked through his front door. 

“So, how did it go?”

“You were right, he's great,” Steve admitted, and Pepper made a sympathetic noise. “I mean he seems really dedicated. I don't know why either of you think I'm qualified for this though.”

“You're good with kids, Steve,” Pepper said patiently. “I've seen it in action.”

Steve grabbed the bags of groceries and hauled them into the kitchen counter so he could begin putting away the contents. “Yeah, but these kids—”

“Have had traumatic lives,” Pepper said firmly. “And so have you. I'm not trying to compare your experience growing up these kids living in the system, but you understand trauma, Steve.”

Steve paused in front of the fridge, holding the door wide open. He leaned his head against the side of the door and sighed heavily. “If you really think so,” he said, still doubtful.

“I know so.”

His phone beeped and he groaned. “Sorry, Pepper, call waiting. Can we talk later?”

“Of course, Steve. Take care of yourself.”

She ended the call, and Steve examined his phone. His other caller had hung up, but his phone listed a missed call from Bucky. 

Bucky answered on the seventh ring.

“Stevie?”

Steve's gut did a startling flip flop. “Hey, Buck,” he said, smiling wearily. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Oh, yeah, I was just talking to Pepper. She's decided I can't go on being unemployed and useless.”

“I'd stake a claim she did not use the word useless.”

Steve laughed at himself. “Okay, she didn't say that. Nat might as well have though.”

“Ohh,” Bucky said, thick with sympathy. “Coordinated attack?”

“That's exactly what I said!” Steve was thrilled to hear Bucky laughing along with him. He wedged the fridge open again and started putting away the rest of his groceries. “Anyway, I just met with the guy running the program--my boss,I guess. He seems really great.”

Bucky was silent for a moment. “So, no more time to hang out, Working Girl?”

Steve grinned. “They make you watch that too, or was that a lucky shot?”

“You didn't like Melanie Griffiths?”

“I did, actually,” Steve said, holding back laughter. “I just wanted them to follow through on all the lesbian subtext.”

“Uh huh, now I see your true colors.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “So you said something about hanging out? I mean, if you can bear it with a filthy queer commie like me.”

There was a longer silence this time, and Steve realized that he'd never brought up his sexuality with Bucky since the war. He and Bucky had barely talked since Bucky got back on his feet. It was one thing Bucky knowing--maybe remembering, maybe not—that Steve had catted around with guys before or during the war. It was another thing to know he did it now, that it was proudly a part of who he was in the twenty-first century.

“You forget, Rogers,” Bucky said in a solemn voice, “I spent half a century supporting the communists their endeavors.”

Steve hesitated. Then, “Shut thefuck up, Barnes,” he said, and Bucky launched into his odd, sawing laughter. “I swear to god they changed the word troll just because they knew you'd be back to use it.”

Bucky cackled. “Does that mean you won't go to MOMA with me tomorrow?” 

“Really?” Steve said, grinning. “I'd love to.”

 

 

They started at MOMA at eleven AM, Steve yawning because he hadn't been able to sleep, while Bucky excitedly pushed him around from one exhibit to the next, demanding explanation. 

By the time Steve's coffee had begun to work, he started to question whether Bucky could really be this interested in modern art, or Steve's knowledge or opinions of it, but he really didn't want Bucky to be capable of falling such genuine seeming interest and enthusiasm. It was a world away from the Bucky that Steve had known over the past year, however. 

“Hey, can we stop for coffee?” Steve asked after about an hour. “You're draining my batteries with all this education. I should be charging you.”

“Sounds like we should be charging _you_ ,” Bucky said casually, and waited a moment for Steve to get it. Steve rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. 

They went to the cafe and Steve got his promised coffee. Once they were installed at a corner table, neither seemed particularly willing to move, and Steve was stunned when he glanced at his phone and realized they'd been sitting there talking for over an hour. 

“You wanna go back in?” he asked, feeling somehow guilty.

Bucky shrugged. 

They spent another hour looking at art, then Bucky dragged him out to get pizza.

The stores were full of Christmas displays, which Bucky kept pausing to stare at while they walked and ate. 

“You wanna go in?” Steve asked, while they stalked the windows of Macy’s.

Bucky shrugged and licked some grease off his fingers. “I remember working in a place like this,” he said with a curious expression. 

Steve's eyes widened. “Oh my god, yeah. In, uh--I think it was in ‘36? The finance office, right?”

Bucky looked surprised. “You don't remember either?”

Steve looked away from him, focusing on a display of holiday-themed candy. “Don't have a super soldier memory anymore,” he said, trying to sound dismissive. 

He felt a touch against his right hand, and then Bucky's fingers slowly curled around his own. Steve lit up inside like a fire sparking into life. He squeezed Bucky’s hand, then Bucky moved suddenly, tugging him along. 

“C’mon, Rogers,” he said, pulling Steve towards the nearest automatic doors. “We’re buying you a real coat.”

Steve was stunned for a second, paralysed with nostalgia. How many times had Bucky done the same thing to him, back in the thirties and forties: got sick of letting Steve make excuses and yelled at him to take care of himself. Steve was infuriated and grateful all at once, and was glad that he could blame his blush on the heat of the store.

When it turned dark they bought hot chocolate, and Bucky walked him to the subway. He hesitated at the barriers, then he darted through the disabled access gate and joined Steve on the other side, both of them giggling. 

“You followin’ me, Barnes?” Steve teased, but Bucky had already taken off down the stairs. Steve hurried after him. 

They raced down to the platform, where the C train had just pulled in. Bucky leapt aboard and pulled Steve after him, squeezing them both in amongst the crowd. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, frightened for Bucky, who hated crowds more than he did. Bucky slipped his arm around Steve’s shoulder, his raised eyebrows asking permission. Steve nodded and tucked himself closer, and tentatively slid his arm around Bucky’s warm waist. Bucky held the overhead rail with his left hand while Steve rocked against him with the movement of the carriage. Bucky barely moved. 

They held hands again when they left the subway at High Street, and Bucky walked him right to his door. They turned to face each other, both smiling at the awkwardness of it. 

"Hey, I had fun today," Bucky said, gently kicking the toe of his boot against Steve's. He moved in a little closer, ducking his head. 

Steve tried to take a breath, but it caught in his chest. "Yeah," he said in a rough voice. "We should do it again." He was aware that he was moving too, letting his body lean towards Bucky's, tilting his head up to catch the smell of chocolate on his breath. 

Bucky bit his lip, flicking his gaze to meet Steve's. "I don't wanna go yet."

"Then don't go," Steve said, almost in a whisper. 

Bucky's hand touched his hip, and Steve moved without thinking to push himself against Bucky and meet his mouth with his own. With a soft groan, Bucky pushed his tongue into Steve's mouth and crowded him back against the door, his fingers sliding up Steve's waist until he was cupping Steve's face with both hands. Both were trembling slightly. 

Steve moaned and grabbed Bucky by the back of his jeans, tugging him in close before sliding his hands up Bucky’s back, moving inside his jacket. Bucky shuddered and broke off the kiss, but it was only to graze his teeth gently over Steve’s chin, then his cheekbone, then he was dragging his fingers through Steve’s hair and kissing him again, harder than before. He tasted warm and sweet, and the smell of his hair made Steve want to grab it; he wanted to wrap his fist in it and push Bucky to his knees, and fuck his beautiful mouth. 

As if he could sense what Steve was thinking, Bucky broke off again, tilting his mouth away from Steve’s and pushing their foreheads together so their breath panted hot over each other’s necks. “Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes closed. Steve could see his eyelashes shaking. “I think it’s a bad time for this.”

“Oh,” Steve said, a rush of breath loosing from his throat at last. He slipped his hands out of Bucky’s jacket and felt the fingers on his neck loosen, Bucky’s hands sliding over his shoulders. The gesture felt like it was intended to be comforting, which surprised him, and he shrugged it off automatically before catching sight of Bucky’s expression and realizing he’d made a mistake. “Sorry,” he gasped, as Bucky tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I didn’t mean to—I shouldn’t have—done that. Sorry.”

Bucky frowned. “Done what?"

"Kissed you," Steve muttered, coloring. 

"But I wanted you to.”

Steve looked away. “Yeah, but—but you didn’t want me like _this_ ,” he said in a small, sullen voice. “It’s okay, really. I—I won’t tell Rogers. You can tell him yourself.”

“Tell him what?” Bucky asked, leaning back. When Steve glanced up, Bucky looked half angry, half confused. “If you don’t want this, you only had to say. Or didn’t they cover that in the therapy you never go to?”

Steve flushed deeper. “That’s not—but I _do_ , I—”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky said, taking a step back. “I read this wrong, or something. I thought maybe you’d have too much going on right now for—for any of this. But if you just don’t want it, that’s fine. I’ll keep my distance.”

“What? No!” Steve darted forwards and reached out to catch Bucky’s jacket, but held himself back. “I know you want _him_ , and I’m not him.”

“Him who?” Bucky snapped, looking bewildered. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“Him _me_ ,” Steve said, exasperated. “You know, _big_ me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Rogers.” 

Steve barely had time to open his mouth before Bucky was crushing him up against the door a second time, grabbing Steve’s arms to wrap them around his neck, before fitting his hands over Steve’s hips. “Buck—” Steve gasped into his mouth, and then he didn’t bother saying anything for a while. Bucky was making soft, urgent noises into his mouth, dipping one hand to brush at the top of Steve’s ass, sliding the other up his spine to stroke the back of his neck. Steve shivered and bit Bucky’s bottom lip, feeling dizzy when it startled a loud moan out of him. 

They both pulled back abruptly, suddenly aware that they were still practically on the street, grinding against one another in a doorway and sucking face like horny kids. 

“God,” Steve muttered, unhooking his arms from around Bucky’s neck. He twisted a stray lock of hair around his finger. “Bucky, what the hell.”

Bucky shook his head. “I oughta go.” He reached up to brush Steve’s hair to one side, smiling at his pouting face. “Otherwise you might ask me up, and I won't be able to say no.”

Steve’s heart hammered in his chest. “Holy shit.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky murmured, cutting him a sly grin. He ducked his head and kissed the corner of Steve’s mouth, digging his metal fingers into Steve’s hip. “I’ll see you around, Trouble.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if y'all keep unsubscribing because of me posting raven cycle fic, you're gonna miss spectacular updates such as this 6000 word porn romp. shame on you.
> 
> in other words, steve and bucky finally get it on. shout it from the fucking rooftops.

Steve was at the gym two days later, jogging at a sedate pace, when he became aware of someone watching him. Frowning, he took a long pull of water, then upped the program on his treadmill to push himself harder for the last third of his workout. He hadn’t heard from Bucky since the other night, and he was starting to believe that he’d misread things entirely. That maybe Bucky had just been caught up in the moment. 

Not wanting to run into anyone familiar at the tower, Steve had picked a random gym in his neighborhood when he moved. It had the advantage of being open twenty-four hours, which meant he'd taken to going between midnight and five, letting him avoid most of the arrogant posers who made eyes at themselves in the mirror and tried to pick him up for a casual lay. 

Steve was still getting used to the idea that people wanted to sleep with him. There hadn’t been that many offers back before the war, but then again, eugenics wasn’t such a popular buzzword these days, which was nice. Not to mention he looked healthier than he used to, anyway; he was still skinny and prone to getting sick, at least so far, but plenty of people seemed to like that he was small. It made Steve uncomfortable, the way guys, especially, would comment on his slight frame. It was too much like the come-ons he used to get in the thirties, from guys who wanted to treat him like their girl for the night. 

The line of treadmills was empty except for his own, so Steve felt like screaming when someone stepped onto the machine beside him and started jogging slowly to warm up.

"What're you—" he started to say, turning around to glare at the newcomer, then almost lost his footing when he saw who it was. "Bucky!"

"Hey," Bucky said, smiling shyly at him. "You come here often?"

Steve punched a button on the panel to put his machine in cooldown. "You followed me to the gym?"

"Sam told me I might find you here."

"I swear Sam knows my schedule better than I do," Steve said, unaware of his own flippant tone until he caught Bucky looking at him askance, his smile fading. "Uh, it's good to see you though?"

Bucky shook his hair out of his eyes. Steve was surprised he hadn't tied it out of the way, like he usually did when training or off on missions. "You sure?" Bucky asked, his tone as nonchalant as Steve's had been. "Don't seem all that pleased to see me."

"Just surprised," Steve said breathlessly. "And I'm kinda spaced out," he added. "Somehow getting up at four thirty just isn't so easy these days."

Bucky finally smiled again. "I hear that."

As Steve jogged slowly through the end stretch of his run, he couldn't help glancing over at Bucky. Bucky _really_ wasn't a morning person, so he had to have a good reason for showing up in Brooklyn at six AM. He reasoned that Bucky might also prefer the anonymity of a workout away from familiar eyes. At least if the eyes here started to pry, Bucky would know they were mostly trained on his ass. Then again, Bucky didn't have to worry about people measuring him against a strong, super buff version of himself. Bucky basically _was_ that version. 

"So, you just decide today was a good day to join a gym?"

"Figured you probably don't have a spotter down here," Bucky said, as if he could read what Steve was thinking. "And I snuck in the back, so don't snitch on me, buddy." The friendly ease in his tone came as a surprise too, but a pleasant one that warmed Steve's belly. 

Steve chuckled, holding back laughter because his asthma was playing up bad enough already. "I'm okay without a spotter, but thanks. I'm not exactly training for Everest down here."

"Colonel Muscles _will_ be disappointed," Bucky teased. Steve looked at him, bemused, and Bucky jerked his thumb to the corner of the room. "On the weight bench, with the lead pipe."

Steve burst out laughing and had to stop running to catch his breath. "Fuck," he gasped when he could breathe again. "I don't wanna know what he’s gonna do to me with _that_."

"Really?" Bucky asked, laughing too. "You aren't a little bit interested?" 

Shaking his head, Steve reached for his towel to wipe the sweat off. He wasn't used to breaking a sweat so easily, but he didn’t mind that much. It made him feel like he’d had a good workout, like something he did could actually affect his physicality, one way or another. Normally, he could take a week or two off from running or working out and not feel any difference, but in this body, he had keep on top of everything. It was exhausting, but at least it gave him something to focus on. 

"Weights?" Bucky asked, shambling gracefully to a halt and turning to dazzle Steve with his smile. 

"Yeah, sure," Steve said, grimacing back at him. 

He walked ahead over to the smaller weight bench upstairs, pausing at the mat to stretch. His back had been aching for a few days, and he took his time stretching everything out, while Bucky made faces at the pathetically small loads of the free weights. 

Steve stretched and bent to touch his toes, and when he straightened up again it was to find Bucky watching him with a predatory smile. 

“Christ, Barnes," he said, laughing through his blush. "Be a little more obvious, why don’tcha?”

Bucky’s smile widened, and he beckoned Steve over with one crooked finger. “C’mon, Rogers. Let’s see how many of these cupcakes you can lift.”

 

 

They rolled into a diner when they were done, still half in their workout gear and probably stinking to high heaven, but the waiter was friendly enough. Steve had to stop himself ordering three different breakfasts out of instinct, and in the end he made Bucky choose for him. 

When his chocolate chip short stack arrived, accompanied by an intimidatingly large bottle of maple syrup, Steve burst out laughing. 

"What?" Bucky said, not bothering to look up from where he was carefully dividing his food into sections. 

"Not s'posed to eat sugar," Steve said, grinning as he drowned his pancakes in syrup. “My doctor's gonna yell at me.”

Bucky glanced up at him, shoving a forkful of bacon and hash brown in his mouth. He wore an amused, inquisitive look, and Steve couldn't help laughing. He hadn't felt this relaxed around Bucky in—well, probably not since before the war. Bucky swallowed and gestured at Steve with his fork. "Today I'm your doctor, and I say eat the whole fucking thing."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"'Cause I got a sweet tooth and I'm looking forward to kissing you again."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sure, sure, who cares about my normal person clogged arteries, or my blood sugar."

"Rogers, I have advanced first aid training, I've performed multiple off-the-cuff field surgeries, plenty of them on _you_ , and I've got JARVIS on speed dial. Eat your fucking pancakes."

"Has your seduction technique always been this bad?" Steve asked through a generous mouthful of his breakfast.

Bucky shrugged. "How would I know?" He tapped his temple with one metal fingertip. "It's all cotton candy up there, y'know?"

Steve kicked him under the table. "Fuck you, Barnes, you can't play that card."

"Fine, then you can't play the consumptive orphan card."

"I didn't!" Steve protested.

Bucky was already laughing at him. 

 

 

They made their way to Steve's place afterwards. It occurred to him that he didn't actually know where Bucky was staying. He didn't think it was the tower, but if Bucky had other hiding places squirrelled away, he was keeping them to himself.

At the doorstep they hesitated; Steve turned to look at Bucky and they both drew in a sudden sharp breath, remembering standing there two nights earlier.

“You want coffee?” Steve asked.

Bucky shook his head. “I want you. Invite me up for that.”

Steve bit his lip to suppress his smile. “Come on up and fool around with me?”

Bucky laughed, leaning in close enough to touch but not reaching out yet. “I'm all yours.”

Groaning, Steve unlocked the door and pulled Bucky through it by the front of his shirt. They crammed into the elevator and Steve flung his arms around Bucky's neck and kissed him. Bucky laughed against his mouth and reached past him to push the button for Steve's floor, then he put his arms around Steve's waist and pulled him close. 

It was nothing like when he'd made out with Thor, all frenetic energy and silliness; it was nothing like Rogers, frustration and punishing desperation from both sides. 

He pressed himself against Bucky and felt the comfort of huddling through New York winters and missions in Europe without their cold weather gear; he felt the heat of summers at the beach, in the park or on the fire escape, struggling to ignore the yawning confusion of looking at Bucky and not quite seeing a brother. 

Bucky ran the fingertips of his right hand up Steve’s spine and touched the back of his neck. A shudder ran through them both and Steve moaned softly, clutching at Bucky’s hair. 

“C’mon,” Bucky murmured, stubble scraping on Steve’s lips. “I’m not fooling around with you in an elevator.”

Steve broke away, laughing, and slipped his hand into his pocket for his keys. “Aw, fuck,” he muttered, when he didn’t find them. He checked both pockets again but there was nothing. “ _Fuck_.” He pulled his gym bag off his shoulder and dropped it on the ground so he could rifle through it. 

“Lost something, Rogers?”

“My keys,” Steve muttered. “Fuck, I could swear I had them when we left the gym.”

Bucky laughed kindly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” He reached into his back pocket and came up with a set of lockpicks. “Lead the way, buddy,” he said, waving the kit at Steve.

It took him approximately two seconds to pick Steve’s lock, and flashed him an ironic raised eyebrow as it clicked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said dismissively. “I’ll get it changed tomorrow.” He grabbed Bucky’s arm and tugged him inside. “Got more important things on my mind right now.”

They both dropped their bags and Steve pulled Bucky to him, reaching up to grab his hair again and angle him to kiss. Bucky moaned, reassuring Steve that he wasn’t being too rough.

Bucky had hardly let anyone touch him since he'd come to the tower. Any touches between the two of them had been brief and perfunctory, usually mission required. They’d patched each other up a few times, Bucky’s touch far more sure than Steve’s, but cool and impersonal. Steve couldn't help wondering if Bucky had been intimate like this with anyone else since coming back. He didn't want to ask; Bucky had precious little privacy as it was, but one of the doctors had insisted on giving Steve a startlingly severe safe sex talk after the incident, ignoring Steve's protests that, actually, condoms had existed where he came from, and he'd already had the twenty-first century updates when he woke up. 

"Captain Rogers, it's likely that you're significantly more vulnerable to sexually transmitted diseases now than when you had the serum protecting you," she had told him in a stern voice. "And these measures are meant to protect your partners as much as you."

"Uh, Steve?" Bucky said awkwardly, pulling away from him. "I really—Christ, I don't wanna ask, but I know SHIELD doesn't do STD testing on the regular anymore—"

Steve was confused, until he grasped Bucky's point. He leaned back, aware he probably looked slightly offended. "You wanna know if my dick's clean?"

Bucky winced. "I wasn't gonna put it quite like that. It's just, we oughta talk about that, right?"

"Right," Steve muttered in a belligerent voice. "Well, I got tested for everything under the sun when this happened." He gestured to himself with a scowl, then folded his arms, feeling a little bad when it was obvious that Bucky had picked up on his defensive body language. "I’ve only been with one person since —well, just myself otherwise. And we were careful, I’m not an idiot." Steve left that hanging, and tried not to feel bad about the white lie.

To his surprise, Bucky didn't respond to Steve's defensiveness. 

"Only one?" he said instead, reaching out and brushing Steve's cheek with his knuckles. His voice was low and rough, sounding like the dirty end of a good night. Steve felt heat rush to his face. His skin burned against Bucky's cold fingers. "That’s a crying shame if you ask me.”

“Bucky,” Steve murmured, closing his eyes briefly. His skin was burning. 

“So what's the holdup?” Bucky whispered, leaning in to kiss Steve’s eyebrow and cheek. “I _know_ you've had offers."

Steve reared back a little and arched his eyebrow. "Because you're following me?"

"Because you're a fuckin' dream and I wanna spend all day screwing you," Bucky said, in such a matter of fact tone that it took Steve a moment to process what he'd said. "And there's no chance that I'm the only one."

"Christ," Steve murmured, his heart leaping into his throat. He lifted one hand and twisted his fingers in the front of Bucky's shirt, pulling him forward. "Quit trying to charm me and kiss me already."

Bucky kissed him eagerly, but without haste. Steve felt hot and impatient, desperate to get his hands on Bucky after so long, but appreciating the thought of taking his time, too. Bucky hadn't shaved in several days, so his stubble was just soft enough to grate pleasantly against Steve's cheek. He kissed like it was the sweetest pleasure he'd found in the whole world, lingering over every touch. 

"Can't believe I've been missing out on this," Steve murmured, when Bucky started kissing the side of his neck. His fingers stole under the hem of Steve's t-shirt and inched around his waist. When Bucky's hands met at the small of Steve's back, he pulled Steve closer to him with a groan and nudged in to kiss his mouth again. He was surprised again by how gentle and safe it was, none of the urgency he would have expected. Not yet anyway. 

Steve lifted his arms to cradle Bucky’s head but hesitated, realizing belatedly that he hadn’t showered after his workout and he was really starting to stink. He pulled back as soon as he could bear to and grinned when Bucky looked confused. 

“Hold on a minute,” Steve said, laughing and turning away. 

"Wait," Bucky said, when Steve started to pull off his t-shirt. "Don't get undressed."

Steve frowned, halting with one arm halfway out of his sleeve. "Uh, okay?"

Bucky put his arms around Steve from behind and kissed his neck softly. "I didn't mean _ever_ ," he said through gentle laughter. "I wanna get you outta these myself is all."

" _Oh,_ " Steve gasped, leaning back in Bucky's arms. "I really stink though."

"Then we'll take a shower," Bucky murmured, moving his mouth over the back of Steve's neck, kissing at his hair where it had gone stiff and scrubby with sweat. 

"Oh shit," Steve moaned, when Bucky's fingers skimmed up over his belly. He pulled Steve's shirt up, scraping the points of his metal fingers over Steve's stomach while biting gently down on his shoulder. Steve shuddered, and Bucky took the hint and worked his t-shirt up over his head. Steve lifted his arms up, and when Bucky had tossed the shirt to one side, he grabbed Steve's wrists, keeping his arms extended. Steve moaned when Bucky tugged on them, making Steve arch back against him. It made his spine twinge unpleasantly, but after the workout he was loose enough to manage it. Trust Bucky to read his body better than he could. 

"Tut tut, Rogers," Bucky growled in his ear. "Exposing all your vulnerable spots to a trained killer."

Steve huffed. "I'm a trained killer too, asshole, just because I don't look like one."

Bucky laughed, delighted, and let Steve pull free and turn around in his arms. "Whatcha gonna do then? Stab me with something?" He pushed his thigh against Steve’s crotch as he said it, raising one eyebrow.

"I might,” Steve said, grinding into him a little. He only had a semi, but he was getting there. With a thoughtful noise, he raised his hand to touch Bucky’s mouth. “Or maybe I'll choke you."

Bucky actually _moaned_ at that. "Shower," he growled, ripping his own t-shirt off and hustling Steve towards the bathroom. They made it there even less gracefully than Steve had with Rogers, laughing at each other when they tripped getting out of their sweatpants, before shutting each other up with hot, clumsy kisses. 

Bucky pulled away long enough to knock the water on, then he grabbed Steve and tugged him under the spray. It hadn’t warmed up yet, and they both yelped as cold water hit their shoulders. Bucky folded his arms around Steve before bringing them up to cup his face. They kissed without haste, learning the taste of each other’s mouths. Bucky brushed the wet hair back off Steve’s face and held his head gently so that he could tilt it and angle the kiss. 

Steve still found it strange to kiss Bucky, stranger almost than he had to kiss _himself_. He wasn’t aware of a time he’d consciously _wanted_ to kiss Bucky, but he couldn’t think of a time that he _hadn’t_ , either. Their past seemed to be blurred by the desire he’d felt since Bucky had kissed him the other night. And Bucky was beautiful. Steve must've been crazy _not_ to want him. 

“You okay?” Bucky murmured against his cheek. 

Steve nodded, realizing that Bucky had been speaking before that and he'd missed it. “I can’t, um—” He blushed and hid his face in Bucky's neck. “I can’t hear great, with the water and all.”

Bucky nodded and scraped his teeth over the edge of Steve's jaw, gnawing just the right side of too rough. It felt dangerous and thrilling to be this close to Bucky again, to be naked and vulnerable wIth him. He stroked his fingers cautiously over Bucky's left arm, moving up to touch his shoulder. Bucky shivered, and Steve stood on tiptoe to speak into his ear.

"Can I do that?"

After a moment, Bucky nodded. "Anything."

Steve pressed his mouth to Bucky's chest, just above his left nipple. He could feel Bucky's heartbeat through his skin, and wrapped his arms around Bucky's thick waist with a sigh. It was good to feel him warm and healthy; he'd been starving when he came back to Steve, but he had plenty of meat on him now. It reminded Steve of the way he'd been before the war, except that Bucky was more muscle now than he had been then. 

Bucky's warm fingers cupped the back of Steve's head, rubbing at his scalp through his wet hair. None too gently, he tilted Steve's face up and brought their mouths together. 

It flipped a switch, and things finally clicked over to _urgent_. Bucky put his back to the shower wall and Steve leaned into him so they could grind against each other. They weren’t quite kissing any more; their mouths were close together, but they were both panting too hard to kiss. Steve dug his nails into Bucky’s hips and rubbed against him harder, while Bucky dug his fingers into Steve’s hair again and yanked his head to one side in order to bite his neck. 

Steve cried out and came suddenly, his hips jerking helplessly. Bucky grabbed his ass and fucked up against him while it happened, making everything a hundred times better and worse all at once until Steve was gasping and almost crying with overstimulation. 

“Stop, stop,” he gasped, putting his hands on Bucky’s chest and pushing away from him. “Fuck, hold on.”

He took a step back and almost collapsed; Bucky grabbed him by his arms, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. “Steve. Stevie? Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve muttered, leaning against him. “Fuck. Sorry. I think I just—overheated a little.”

“I’m flattered.” Steve laughed weakly, and Bucky reached over to shut off the water. He helped Steve out of the shower and looked around. “Uh, Stevie, where’s your towels?”

Steve glanced at the empty towel rack. “Shit. Uh. I maybe left them in the dryer.”

Bucky sat him down on the toilet seat. “Stay.”

Steve wrapped his arms around himself and tried not to shiver. He heard clattering noises from several different parts of the apartment, and a minute later Bucky returned with an armful of crumpled towels. Steve burst out laughing.

“What,” Bucky said, frowning as he dumped the towels at Steve’s feet and picked up one of the biggest ones to wrap around his shoulders. “What’s so funny, shit-for-brains?”

Steve cackled. “You’re just—just running around my apartment with your dick swinging around, Bucky, Jesus. At least pull the drapes.”

“Oh, excuse me for trying to look out for your stupid ass,” Bucky shot back, but he wore a goofy grin. 

Steve tugged him down by his wrist and kissed his stupid smile. “Thanks.”

Bucky sighed. “Uh huh.” He picked up another towel and fastened it around his waist. “C’mon, I’m putting you to bed.”

“Ugh, what?” Steve muttered, getting reluctantly to his feet. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll pick you up, Rogers,” Bucky said as he bent to fold the rest of the towels. “Don’t think I won’t. I’ll fuckin’ pick you up and carry you in there if I have to.” Steve groaned, and Bucky straightened up with the pile of folded towels. “Besides,” he said, leaning in close to nuzzle at Steve’s cheek. “I’m coming with you.”

Steve brightened. “Oh,” he said, grinning. “Okay then.”

 

 

Steve woke up feeling groggy and dull, then jerked awake all the way when he realized that he wasn't alone in bed.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bucky murmured, reaching out to touch him. He stroked Steve's cheekbone with his thumb. “You feelin’ any better?”

“Hey,” Steve whispered, rolling into him and searching out Bucky's mouth to kiss. “You stayed. I'm glad you stayed “

Bucky kissed him back softly and grinned. Of course I stayed. I didn't get mine yet.”

Steve laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “Real funny.” Bucky chuckled at him, and Steve sighed happily and snuggled down in his arms. “I'll get to it in a minute.”

“I'm in no hurry,” Bucky murmured, running his fingers through Steve's hair. 

Steve huffed against Bucky's bare chest. “I'm glad you're stalking me.”

He felt Bucky's soft laughter against his ear. “I'm not stalking you.”

“You followed me to the gym.”

“Oh yeah.”

Steve wanted to put his head on Bucky's shoulder, but he was lying on Bucky's left and he wasn't sure that it would be welcome. He nudged Bucky onto his back anyway and let his hand sprawl on Bucky's stomach. 

“You think this is weird at all?” Steve asked suddenly, in a small, shy voice.

Bucky turned to look at him, dragging his eyes up from Steve's hand on his abdomen. “No. You know that you're—you make the most sense to me. Of anything.”

Steve caught his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down on it hard to keep his composure. Bucky smiled a little sadly. In moments, the realization of what he'd almost lost—what he'd almost thrown away—crashed over Steve like a waterfall beating down. 

“I thought—” Steve gasped, willing himself to talk though he had to look away from Bucky's eyes. “I didn't think that we would—Jesus, I didn't think we'd ever be anything again.” He felt his throat tighten with the need to cry and he stubbornly swallowed it down again. “Where did all this come from, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged. “I think—I think we were always halfway here, don't you?” He smiled again and stroked the inside of Steve's palm where it lay against his chest. “Tell me if I'm remembering wrong though.”

Steve shrugged. “I can't tell anymore. I know for a while, when we were teenagers, I—” He broke off, his face showing his frustration at trying to put it in words. “But if I ever really wanted it then I told myself that I couldn't have it.”

“Why?”

Steve laughed finally, right from his gut upwards. “The obvious, Buck. I was never any kind of a catch. If girls didn't want me, why the hell would you?” He shrugged. “Add to that the more practical reasons of it being the thirties and you being my best friend. Who, unlike me, was a respectable young man—”

Bucky cracked up, which meant Steve did too. He could feel Bucky's stomach shaking under his hand and it was intimate and warming. 

“You were,” Steve insisted. “Where it counted anyway.”

“I can show you plenty of ways that I was _not_ a respectable young man,” Bucky murmured, pulling Steve closer and sliding one hand down to fondle his ass suggestively. 

Steve laughed and squirmed away from him, and Bucky rolled over to trap him, holding himself over Steve. His hair hung over his face, and he used his right hand to pull it to one side. “Hey,” he said gently. “You said you couldn't tell, about back then.” He paused, raised an eyebrow and waited for Steve's confirmation. Steve nodded and Bucky went on, “So how about now? You sure now?” 

Steve nodded. “I'm sure now. And I really, really wanna suck you off.” A barely perceptible jolt ran through Bucky, but Steve felt it and he grinned. “That okay?”

With a soft groan, Bucky kissed his hips against Steve's. “You get caught up on your twenty first century porn lingo, Stevie?” he murmured. “You heard of a sixty nine?”

Steve almost swallowed his tongue. “Yes,” he said, but he couldn't help grinning. “But that one ain't new, Buckaroo. I _told_ you that you were respectable back then.”

Bucky snorted. “Shut up.” 

“Does that mean the deal’s off the table?”

For answer, Bucky rolled onto his back and motioned Steve over to him. As soon as he started to move, Bucky grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “C’mon,” he said in a low voice, grabbing for Steve’s wrist and biting it gently. “You promised you were gonna choke me, remember?”

Steve moaned helplessly, the sound cracking in his throat, and nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Yeah, you bet I will." He shimmied down the bed and leaned down to kiss Bucky's belly, flickering the tip of his tongue into his navel and then kissing a scar that he found that likely came from a gunshot once upon a time. 

Bucky sighed contentedly, but tugged at Steve's hips nonetheless. He made an impatient noise in his throat. "Get on with the show, Rogers," he said, the words forced out through gritted teeth. "I want your dick in my mouth _now_."

"Fuck," Steve hissed, glancing down as he lifted his knee so that he wouldn't clock Bucky in the face. The second time he and Thor had hooked up, Steve had kicked him in the face by accident; on anyone human, it would’ve broken their nose.

Steve settled his knees either side of Bucky's chest, trying to find purchase against the sheets so that he wouldn’t slip, letting his thighs cradle the warmth of Bucky’s skin, feeling his powerful heartbeat. 

“Mm, attaboy,” Bucky murmured, running his hands up the outside of Steve’s thighs and then leaning up to nip at his ass with his teeth. Steve whimpered and jerked away from him, giggling. “C’mon, baby,” Bucky said, grazing his fingertips up higher and stroking Steve’s balls. His breath was hot and wet against Steve’s skin, close enough that Steve got the idea of Bucky rimming him and choked back another moan. Then Bucky stroked him again, from his balls all the way back to his hole, and Steve shuddered and cried out. “Come _on_ , Stevie,” Bucky groaned. “I wanna _taste_ you.”

“God,” Steve gasped, shuffling back a little. “Fuck.” Bucky reached under him to grab his dick and tilted it back so he could suck on the end of it. "Oh fuck, fuck," Steve moaned, sinking down against him. "Bucky _Bucky_ —"

Bucky hummed in response; a low,contented sound that punched Steve right in the gut. After a minute, he pushed himself up again on shaking arms and stretched himself forward to reach Bucky's crotch. His dick was big and heavy-looking, and flushed a dark pink. Steve licked his bottom lip, shivering at the sensation of Bucky still sucking the tip of his cock, obviously determined to tease until Steve got a move on. Steve bent his head and licked along the length of Bucky's dick, felt his entire body twitch beneath him. He grinned and did it again, and Bucky answered with a growl of encouragement. Laughing, Steve wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s dick and jerked his hand a few times before putting his mouth around the end and sinking down as far as he could go. 

Bucky put his hands on Steve’s waist and started to rock him, encouraging Steve to move his hips and fuck into Bucky’s mouth. Steve tried, but he slipped and rammed home far too hard. Bucky started choking and made a low noise of distress, but when Steve tried to pull away, Bucky grabbed his ass hard with both hands and pulled him back in. Steve got the message. He rocked his hips as best he could, though he wasn’t quite long enough to do that _and_ keep his mouth on Bucky. He replaced it with his hands instead and just sucked at the tip, though by the way Bucky was moaning, that seemed to be enough. 

Bucky seized him suddenly, grabbing his hips and tugging him back so that Bucky’s dick slipped from his wet lips. 

“Hey—” Steve started to protest, but stopped when he realized that Bucky was already coming, spilling onto his stomach while the rest of him spasmed in tight, controlled movements and his fingers dug into Steve’s hips so hard that Steve yelped loudly. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky said breathlessly, letting him go and flopping onto the bed. “I’m sorry, are you okay? Stevie?” Bucky turned him around and fumbled for his face, cupping his cheeks so he could look Steve in the eye. “Stevie? Honey?”

Steve laughed, annoyed, and pushed him off. “I’m fine, Buck, jeez.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, though his face didn’t lose all the concern it carried. Glancing down, he grimaced and then reached down and swiped up the mess on his belly with his right hand. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Buck, really,” Steve said, laughing again. “I’m fine, it’s okay. God, that was so _hot_.”

Bucky grinned sheepishly. “Really?”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand and sucked one of his fingers clean. Bucky made a little broken noise. “ _Really_ ,” Steve said, licking his lips clean and leaning up to kiss him. 

Bucky grabbed hold of Steve’s face again, cradling his head while they kissed, hot and melting. He pushed Steve onto his back and crawled over him, half-menacing and half-miracle, biting at his throat and jerking him off slowly before moving down to take Steve in his mouth again, moaning as he did so. He grabbed Steve’s hands and put them on his head, moaned until Steve grabbed handfuls of hair and then he went to _town_. 

“Bucky,” Steve cried, his breath stolen from him. “Oh, Buck—Bucky—”

Steve threw his head back and drove his heels into the mattress. giving himself some purchase to grind up and fuck Bucky’s throat. Bucky was loose and sloppy around him, but when Steve gave a good tug on his hair, he tightened up and sucked hard. Steve was done. He cried out wordlessly, shivering through it when Bucky refused to let go and swallowed him down until he went limp against the bed. 

Bucky released him finally, drawing a whimper out of Steve. “That sounds promising,” Bucky murmured, moving up the bed to crash next to Steve.

“Mm?”

“Sounds like I did my job properly,” Bucky said, running one fingertip up the top of Steve’s thigh and then using it to draw soft circles on his belly. “You feel good?”

Steve grinned at him. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” He rolled over lazily, his limbs heavy, overcome with lethargy after what Bucky had just put him through. “C’mere,” he muttered, putting his fingers on Bucky’s jaw and pulling him in to kiss. He could taste himself on Bucky’s tongue, and it reminded him uncomfortably a moment of screwing around with Rogers. He told himself not to ask, that it was better not to know, but as Bucky cuddled up to him, Steve realized that he couldn’t let it go.

"Buck, I gotta ask. This—us doing this, I mean. Why now? Is it 'cause I'm—you know. Smaller."

Bucky looked confused, maybe a little angry. "Are you kiddin' me, Rogers?"

"It's just the timing, you know?"

"When's the last time we spent any real time together, can you tell me that? When did we last do anything _fun_ together?"

"The team has—we do stuff, sometimes."

"I ain't talking about fucking movie night, Steve. I'm talking about you and me, actually interacting, without your fucking savior complex hanging around like a third wheel."

Steve flushed. "I guess we've both been pretty busy." 

Bucky nodded. "Exactly. I'm serious too; I can't stand you fussing over every little thing I do or say. But now you're so wrapped up in being miserable about _yourself_ , I'm in the clear."

"Oh, God," Steve moaned, hiding his face in his hands. "I'm an asshole."

“As if you’re just realizing that now,” Bucky teased, reaching over to spread his fingers on Steve’s stomach. He stroked the soft hair below Steve’s navel absently. “Do you think he’s gonna mind?”

“Who?”

Bucky fixed him with a _look_. “Rogers.”

Steve sighed and looked away. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, he’s gonna mind.”

"You two don't talk much."

"What's there to talk about?" Steve said uncomfortably. "We're the same."

"You're not," Bucky said, speaking over him.

Steve swallowed down the next question on his tongue, but it stuck in his throat, and he found it spilling out. "So it's just me? That you wanna—"

Bucky rolled over him, propping himself above Steve and looking down at him. "Would it be a problem if I wanted both of you?"

The weight of his gaze pressed heavily on Steve, making him feel dull and self-conscious. Bucky’s weight was pinning his legs into the mattress, emphasizing the lazy, leaden sensation he had from coming so hard. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I want to say no.”

Bucky nodded slightly. “You wanna talk about it now?”

Steve sighed. “I don’t know. If I say I just want to have sex, do you still want to talk about it later?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.” Steve smiled at him weakly. “Then let’s talk about it later.”

Bucky nodded and then leaned down to kiss him softly. “Okay. You really wanna have sex again already?”

Steve started laughing. “Man, I think I’m down for the count. But tell me if you get a second wind, because I have plans for you and your dick.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

“Bite me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like this? Reblog it [here on tumblr](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/128731258465/spitting-distance-notallbees-captain-america)! 
> 
> Kudos and comments = chapters :D


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